A Trick of the Light
by smuffly
Summary: Gwaine and Leon help a wounded stranger - but every action has its consequences. Merlin knows this all too well. Who is the mysterious Robin and what is he doing in Camelot? (Set in Season 4.)
1. Chapter 1

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter One**

" _ **How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world."  
(William Shakespeare)**_

-x0x-

Gwaine had never stayed behind to clean up after a tavern brawl before.

 _Too busy running,_ he grinned to himself, bending down to scoop up yet another shard of broken pottery. The knight had a fondness for new experiences but, truth be told, this one left him feeling more than a little flat. Guilt was a poor companion – and apparently so was Sir Leon when it came to ale-induced high jinks and gambling misadventures. Much as Gwaine admired the man for his moral fortitude, virtue had never been known to sway the toss of a coin. If it could, Gwaine would have taken holy orders long ago. As for remarking upon the cleverness of his 'system', just as it was about to yield magnificent results… Gwaine's sigh was heartfelt. He still couldn't tell whether or not Leon had done that on purpose. Some kind of lesson for the hapless knight, perhaps? Risking a sly glance through his heavy mane of hair, Gwaine studied his companion, who was currently hefting barrels back into place under the watchful eye of the rumpled tavern owner. Leon's face was solemn and his bearing was a study in abject disapproval.

 _You let me down,_ said the stiffness in his back. _You let yourself down,_ said the sorrow in his eyes. _You're a knight of Camelot,_ said the crease between his eyebrows. _Why can't you act like it?_

Gwaine dropped down onto his knees. He could almost feel the weight of Arthur's sword upon his shoulder. So many expectations. Easy to become a knight when there was a kingdom to reclaim, but now, when things were - well, as hopeful as they could ever get around here? _That_ was the heavy burden, just as he had always suspected it would be. He could fight like a storm, fierce and wild, when the need arose, and he would fight to the death for any man, woman or child in a heartbeat – but the rest of it? The pomp and ceremony, and the need to be so very noble all the time… _Did I make a mistake after all?_

"Are you finished?" Leon's voice broke into his reverie. All the barrels were hefted, then.

"That's a good question," Gwaine said lightly, relishing the double meaning as he rose to his feet with a slight drunken wobble. He gestured like an overly dramatic bard, taking in the whole room with one sweep of his hand. "Floor's clear. Tables are righted. Coins are in the coffer, to pay for the rest of the damage." _My winnings,_ he added silently, hiding a twinge of regret. "You tell me. Think they'll let us leave yet?"

"They're not keeping us here, Gwaine. You know that. We chose to stay. We're Knights of…"

"Camelot. Yes. I'm aware of that, thank you." Really, had old King Uther made some kind of ridiculous decree that his knights should utter those words at least once every day? Embroider them on samplers? Maybe he should ask the new king. There was plenty of room for change in Arthur's reign, as far as Gwaine could see, and he had _plenty_ of suggestions. "You like sewing, Leon?"

"I beg your pardon?" Leon looked puzzled.

Gwaine chuckled. Already, his frustration was melting away in the warmth of his returning humour. After all, this would be an excellent tale to tell Merlin… once he had _embroidered_ it. "Nothing. Just a random question. Keeping you on your toes. That's my role, as your knightly brother. Call it training in the ways of the world. You've led a sheltered life, my friend, here in your pretty kingdom. I plan to help you with that." He slapped the taller man hard on the back. Leon frowned, still trying to fathom the twisted workings of Gwaine's mind. _Give up,_ Gwaine advised him secretly, with a wicked look.

Leon's only response was a weary sigh.

Offering one last nod of apology to the tavern keeper, both men turned to leave the Rising Sun at last. Gwaine could smell freedom, crisp and clear. Well, maybe not clear – they _were_ in the lower town. Fragrant living was a rarity, even here in Camelot. Another decree for Arthur, perhaps? Scented candles for every peasant hovel? Stricter bathing laws? _Were_ there bathing laws…?

 _Now you're rambling,_ Gwaine scolded himself. _How much did you drink tonight?_

"Wait," said Leon, holding up his hand.

Gwaine stumbled into him. "What's that, now?" _So close…_ "A broken stool? A puddle of ale?"

"Try a wounded man," Leon chided him quietly. He pointed to a shadowy corner of the room that had escaped their notice until this very moment, as a shaft of moonlight, beacon-bright, dipped through a hole in the roof to point their way.

Full of regret, Gwaine moved quickly, followed by his friend. The sight was sobering. Together, they crouched down beside the stranger, a young man, pale of face and hair, with a nasty bruise upon his temple and a sheen of sweat across his skin. He was lying on the dirty floor in a tangle of limbs, like a fallen bird – limp and _wrong_ , somehow. Leon felt his pulse and hissed with dismay.

"We should fetch Gaius at once. I've no aptitude for healing."

"Too slow. I'll take him there myself." Gwaine started to lift the fallen stranger, who was heavier than he looked. "I caused this, Leon. I need to make it right."

"Nonsense. We were both at fault." Leon's claim was a generous lie. "We'll carry him together."

-x0x-

The candle was reaching the end of its life; a tiny flame that battled on with flickering courage as it sank into a pool of melted wax. It could foresee its own extinction yet it burned with all of its tiny might.

Beside it, Gaius slumbered peacefully, his cheek resting on a jumbled sheaf of scribbled notes. There was a pot of ink upon the table, a jar of sticky paste and a collection of murky bottles. Damp had made their labels indecipherable but some were newly christened; an arduous task at the end of a very long day.

" _Beorhtne,_ " Merlin whispered from the doorway, and the flame grew strong. So easy, with a candle. Far more complicated with a man… The thought was a bitter one. Merlin dismissed it quickly but the sour taste lingered.

"I shouldn't need to remind you, Merlin," said a muffled, weary voice. "Next time, close the _door_."

Gaius lifted his head, blinking like an owl who has wakened in daylight. There were creases on his cheek, and several inky words, printed backwards. Stepping closer, Merlin studied them surreptitiously. _Flatulence. Ease._ _Digestion._ Tickled, he tried not to laugh. "It's late," he protested. "No one's out there. Let's face it, anyone with any common sense is sleeping."

"Yes," said Gaius pointedly. "I was." The twinkle in his eye gave the lie to his grumpy demeanour. Or was that just a reflection of the candle flame…?

"Bad dreams?"

"Not at all. I was dreaming that I had an assistant who actually… what's the word I'm searching for? _Assisted._ Merlin, I asked you to re-label these bottles five days ago. This afternoon, I gave Sir Elyan what I thought was a simple remedy for headaches. Only a fortunate instinct warned me that something was amiss. I went back and switched the bottles, just in time as it transpires."

Merlin couldn't help himself. "What had you given him, really?"

"A sleeping draught. Highly potent. If he had taken it…" The corner of Gaius's mouth twitched. "Yes, I know; it all seems very amusing here and now. But what if he had been on duty? Out on patrol? On a _horse_?"

"Alright, alright." Merlin held up his hands. "I'm sorry, Gaius. Here, let me help you finish while the flame's still bright enough."

It was an effort to hide the weariness in his stride, and the stiffness of his limbs as he went back to close the door, crossed the room again and sat down next to his dearest friend. An unsuccessful effort, in fact, since Gaius was no fool. "Merlin, _I'm_ sorry," he said gravely. "We're both tired. This can wait; of course it can."

"Sir Elyan might disagree. But I won't." Merlin's smile was broad, and full of relief. "You've got… something, by the way." He tapped his fingers against his own cheek, pointedly. "A little…"

"Ink? Grease? Thank you, Merlin."

As Gaius scrubbed at his face unsuccessfully, much to Merlin's amusement, there came a scuffling noise from the 'empty' corridor. Merlin gave a guilty start and avoided his guardian's eyes.

"Gaius?" called a familiar voice. "You awake in there?" At the same time, someone – surely not Gwaine – knocked politely.

Merlin and Gaius exchanged glances. A visit from the errant knight at this time could mean only one thing. Trouble.

"Come in," said Gaius, warily – and Trouble burst into the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Two**

" _ **A name is one of those things one can give away and keep all the same."  
(George MacDonald)**_

-x0x-

For a man of advancing years, Gaius was surprisingly nimble. As soon as he saw the drooping figure being supported by the two knights, he rose to his feet and gestured to the cot reserved for his patients. "Merlin, help me."

As if he needed to be asked. Already, the young man was forging ahead, his weariness forgotten. A sense of urgency had swept into the room alongside their visitors. Gwaine and Leon looked grim, and exhausted. Together, Merlin and Gaius tried to relieve them of their burden. Gwaine would not let go, but Leon, thoughtful as ever, saw a different need. Relinquishing his hold on the patient, he circled the room instead, lighting more candles. He did not look for thanks but he received them all the same, in the grateful nod that Merlin offered.

"What happened?" Gaius demanded.

Gwaine looked uncomfortable. "Well now…"

"Short answer," Leon interjected. "We were in the tavern."

 _Ah,_ thought Merlin. This was a matter in which he had some prior experience.

"And?" Gaius demanded, never one to mince words. "I need details." His face, as he studied the patient, was full of concern. Merlin hovered beside him, watching for a way to assist and listening intently.

"Bit of a misunderstanding," Gwaine elaborated. "My fault, entirely." Guilt burned red upon his cheeks.

"We found this young man exactly as you see him," Leon continued when his friend broke off. "I don't know what happened. I can only assume he was caught up in the… ah, misunderstanding somehow."

"You assume correctly. This…" Gaius pointed to the bruise. "This is the mark of a man's fist – a very _big_ man. As for any further injuries – I'll need to examine him thoroughly."

"Then you'll need privacy." Leon backed off politely. Gwaine continued to hover, stubborn and dark as a rain cloud. Gaius tried again.

"I'll need information. This fellow may have friends who are searching for him."

Merlin, who knew Gaius better than anyone, could tell that he was seeking to give the knights a task in order to help them feel useful – and to get them out of his hair. Leon took the hint, trained as he had been from an early age in the ways of subtlety and correct behaviour. "We'll go at once," he said.

"Not me." Gwaine shook his head. "I'm staying here."

Gaius sighed, but did not refuse him. "One condition, then," he told the troubled man. "No pacing. It's very distracting." Staring a little closer at Sir Gwaine, he shook his head. "You look terrible, by the way. Merlin?"

Here was something to be done at last. As Leon left the room, Merlin dragged his friend to a shadowy corner, where they both sat down. "Let Gaius work for a while," he suggested. "And he's right, you know. You don't look good. Too much ale?"

"And then some _._ " Gwaine lowered his gaze, letting his long hair drape like a curtain to hide his rueful expression. "I feel a proper fool, Merlin. Why do I never learn?"

"Funny," Merlin offered lightly. "That's the very same thing Arthur asks me every day." A pitcher of water stood on the table beside them. Filling a beaker, he handed it to Gwaine. His voice grew serious as he continued. "You _are_ a changed man, you know? I see that. So does everyone else. But no one wants you to change completely."

"Leon might, after tonight," Gwaine muttered, but he sounded half-convinced.

"Not him. Not really. Arthur knew what he was doing when he chose his knights. You're all so different. You have different strengths – _and_ different weaknesses. You help each other. I've seen it, many times. So have you, Gwaine, and you know I'm right."

Silence. Gwaine raised his head and offered a wary smile.

"Good speech," he said at last.

"You think so?"

"Passionate. Well-reasoned. I'll… think it over."

"You do that," Merlin said, and patted him on the shoulder fondly. Wisdom. Clearly he was getting the hang of it…

-x0x-

Time passed.

Gwaine had fallen into a restless slumber, perched on his stool – _an admirable skill,_ thought Merlin. Quietly, the young man left his snoring charge and tiptoed over to the cot. "What have you found?" he asked Gaius.

The two of them stared down at their mysterious patient. "I'm not sure," Gaius offered, slowly. "Aside from the blow to the head, there's little sign of physical damage. No broken limbs, no cuts, no other bruising. The warmth of his skin is cause for concern, though. He's pale as ice, but his flesh is on fire."

"You're thinking some kind of poison? Surely not. In the middle of a tavern brawl?"

"Or possibly before it. But why would someone poison him _and_ beat him? It makes no sense to me, Merlin. Besides, his pupils are perfectly normal and there's no clear evidence of poison to be seen."

"Apart from the fact he's unconscious."

"Yes, Merlin," Gaius sighed. "Apart from that. I certainly can't treat him for poison unless I know what he ingested – if that is, indeed, the problem. At this stage, I can only assume the blow to the head is the culprit and treat him accordingly. Maybe Sir Leon will find us some more information."

Merlin sighed. "It's a pity the poor man can't just tell us himself."

"Indeed. I like puzzles, but not when a life is at stake.

At that very moment, a voice spoke thickly. "Am I… in danger?"

Given the man's pale demeanour, it was a shock to see such dark eyes open and staring at them. Gaius hastened to reassure him, in soothing tones that spoke of his relief. "You're awake. That's a very good sign." The stranger struggled to rise but the canny physician laid a hand upon his chest and gently pushed him back down. "Not yet. Can you tell me your name?"

A wary look flickered across the stranger's face. "I don't know you."

"Yes," said Gaius patiently, "that's the problem. We don't know you either, and we'd like to help you, if we can. My name is Gaius, and this is Merlin. I'm the court physician. Does that reassure you?"

 _No,_ thought Merlin, watching their patient. _Not in the slightest._

"You were in the tavern," he offered, helpfully. "The Rising Sun? In the lower town?" When the stranger frowned again, he continued. "In Camelot?"

"'Where hope and virtue dwell'," the stranger murmured. His words sounded like the fragments of a song. "Truly?"

"Don't you know?"

Turning his head to one side, the stranger spoke pensively. "I followed the moonlight… It led me here, along the white path."

His vague manner was troubling. Merlin glanced at Gaius, who seemed equally perturbed. "Your name," the physician repeated softly. "Won't you tell us?"

"My name… no. I can't."

 _Can't or won't,_ Merlin wondered. He was aching with curiosity by now. "Then what _should_ we call you? I mean, we can't exactly call you Nobody, can we?"

Closing his dark eyes, the stranger thought for a while. "Robin," he announced at last, with unexpected clarity. "Call me Robin, if you please. It's a friendly name and one I am happy to choose for myself, if the choice is truly mine…"

-x0x-

Waking from turbulent dreams, Gwaine heard a jumble of voices. Only two of them were known to him. He opened his eyes. "Not dead, then?" he cried, full of hope.

"Thank you, no, he isn't," Gaius said pointedly. His stern face hinted that tact was something the knight may wish to consider. "I'm glad you have such faith in my skill as a healer. Though, I must confess, in this case, my skill was hardly needed. Our patient revived of his own accord." He gestured to the young man, who was sitting up by now. "Sir Gwaine, allow me to introduce… Robin."

"I'm so very pleased to meet you." Gwaine stepped forward and held out his hand. Robin regarded it, frowning. "Take it, please? I'm offering you my apology."

"For what?"

 _For what?_ "The fight in the tavern. I caused your injury."

"I hardly think so." Robin shook his head. He continued to frown but there was _something_ in his eyes – a glimpse of good humour. "I do remember you, though… You were loud."

"That does sound like you," Merlin muttered with a cheeky grin. Gwaine swatted the back of his head. Relief was intoxicating; better than ale.

"Robin, can you tell us what happened to you?" Gaius asked, ignoring the foolishness that was going on beside him.

Settling back down, with only the odd nudge in Merlin's direction, Gwaine observed the man as he considered this new request. Robin appeared to be young, at first glance, but there were tiny furrows in his pale skin, particularly around his eyes and mouth; lines that spoke of fierce emotion – bright or dark, Gwaine could not say for certain. This was a man who had seen much, and it had affected him deeply, scoring the memory into his skin. His hair was short, thick and wayward, sticking up in tufts so fair they were almost white. His eyes were almost black. A man of contrast; difficult to read. _A challenge._ Gwaine found that he was smiling. _I like a challenge…_

"When I came to the tavern," Robin began, slowly, "your fight was almost over."

 _Your fight,_ Merlin mouthed. Once again, Gwaine swatted him, this time on the shoulder.

"People were starting to leave, but I had a… purpose for being there – a quest, if you like, Sir Knight - and so I forced my way inside." Robin's eyes clouded over as he lost himself in the telling of his tale. "It was… difficult to keep my feet. I fell against a large man, and I think he took offence. At any rate, his fist met my face and the pain it brought me is the last thing I remember from that place." He shrugged, a charming apology. "It still pains me now, but I can bear it."

Gaius looked concerned. "Still pains you?"

"I can bear it," Robin repeated. "All I ask is rest. I'm sure I shall recover. You have been so kind… May I stay here a little while longer?"

"As long as you need," Gwaine said boldly. "Isn't that right, Gaius?"

"Certainly – _thank_ you, Sir Gwaine." Gaius favoured the knight with a flash of sarcasm but, to his patient, he was unfailingly gentle. "Robin, you still have a fever that concerns me and, though you say you can bear it, no physician worth his salt would release a patient with a wound such as yours until they were truly satisfied that you were not about to drop at a moment's notice." Gaius paused. "May I ask…? Your fever. Did you eat or drink anything in the tavern?"

"Not one morsel. I had no time, and no appetite."

"Are you hungry now?" said Merlin, suddenly.

Robin turned to study the young man and his face was suddenly eager, as though Merlin had awakened something in him that had slumbered until now.

"Food?" he exclaimed. "Why, I'm ravenous!"

-x0x-

 **A/N: Many thanks to all those who reviewed Chapter One, or who followed/favourited this story! Not every update will be as speedy as this one but I will try to keep things going at a reasonable pace. Hope you enjoyed Chapter Two!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Three**

" _ **The belly is an ungrateful wretch, it never remembers past favours, it always wants more tomorrow."  
(Aleksander Solzhenitsyn)**_

-x0x-

Arthur lay in bed and glared at the moonlit canopy. Sleep was elusive and his belly was growling like an angry dog. Supper had been… less than satisfying. No surprises there, but really! Had Merlin used _any_ meat tonight? Carrots and turnips were all very well in their place, and he wasn't one to complain as a general rule, but surely the king of Camelot had a right to a decent meal now and then. _I should find my own personal cook,_ he thought sleepily, as he did almost every night. _Merlin certainly has no pretentions to the title._ Merlin. He would be so disappointed, Arthur realised. And probably pull that face… the annoying one that made him look like a little lost puppy.

 _Oh, for goodness sake._

Driven by his indignation, and his hunger, Arthur sat up, swung his feet around and hopped out of bed. Was he not a man of action?

Could he not, in fact, feed himself when the need arose?

"I'll go to the kitchens," he announced to the room at large.

From her lofty throne above the clouds, the moon looked down at him through his bedroom window and she seemed to be smirking.

"I know where they are," the king of Camelot added testily.

He pulled on his boots and a nearby shirt. Fully dressed, and full of sudden vigour, he set off on his noble quest: bread and cheese. And maybe a flagon of something warm and soothing, purely to help him sleep, of course. Arthur smiled as he strode along the corridor. He could almost taste it now…

A bobbing candle flame in the distance drew him back out of his reverie and, all at once, he found to his astonishment that he did not know where he was. In his own castle.

Ridiculous.

"I took a wrong turn, that's all," he muttered as he glanced around to regain his bearings. All was mystifying shadow. Only the candle lit his way, bouncing merrily down a staircase somewhere in front of him. Down. The kitchens were down. Arthur followed quickly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was far wearier than he had suspected. This was strange, his brain insisted; very strange. But Arthur was a stubborn man, and toasted cheese was calling him…

…to the armoury, apparently. As the candle flame winked out, Arthur found himself scowling at racks of spears and rows of brightly painted shields, in the room he had just entered.

"Fine," he grumbled. At least he knew where he was. "Hello?" he ventured cautiously, but the bearer of the flame had vanished into thin air, to all intents and purposes. Very unsettling. Arthur shivered. It was cold down here, where the stone walls leeched all the heat from the room and there was no warm fire to replace it.

Backtracking with care and studying each turn before he took it, Arthur finally reached the end of his reckless quest. The kitchen door was wooden, large and heavy. It was also open, just a crack. Not wishing to alarm the dutiful servant that was doubtless within, working late, Arthur tapped politely.

 _Bang,_ went a metal plate on the cobbled floor.

There followed several muffled curses.

Feeling less constrained by manners, Arthur poked his head around the door. "What are _you_ doing here?" he exclaimed. "And what do you mean by leading me a merry dance just now?"

Sir Gwaine was busy scooping cold chicken pieces back onto the fallen plate. He glanced up at Arthur and grinned disarmingly, skirting the king's first question.

"Well now, your Highness, I'm not really much of a dancer."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he took in the over-sized cooking pot that Gwaine had borrowed, and the random pile of food that was currently stuffed inside it. "Hungry, are we? Don't they feed you here?"

"Said one man to another in the kitchen at midnight." Into the pot went the rescued chicken as Gwaine rose to his feet once more.

"Merlin makes my supper," Arthur said meaningfully.

"Merlin's campfire stews are a legend." The knight gave a warm, lazy smile of fond remembrance.

"That's a fair observation. But stew every day can be tedious." Relenting as he began to see the absurdity of the situation, Arthur chuckled. "Got any cheese in that pot?"

Gwaine made a big show of checking. "I do, as a matter of fact. But it's not for eating. Not just yet. Your Highness…"

Arthur was tired and his brain was beginning to ache. Too many petty little mysteries. "Don't tell me – my knights are having a midnight feast. I'm hurt – you didn't invite me." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Gwaine shrugged. "Something like that…" It was his shifty expression that prompted Arthur's next remark.

"Is Merlin involved?" His servant did always seem to be at the heart of anything odd around here, Arthur reasoned. "He has a knack – no, a _talent_ for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Actually, I think you'd better tell me what you're up to, Gwaine. No more grinning at me like some motley-clad fool. Don't I deserve to know? I am the…"

"King? You know, if you have to keep saying it…" Gwaine gave one last chuckle to show his friend that he was only joking. Humour was his curious way of showing respect, Arthur knew, and counted himself lucky that the man felt so free and easy in his company, given his former prejudice. "Of course I'll tell you, Arthur. We can talk on the way. It's quite a story, actually. Here, help me carry this…" Together they lifted the pot, with an effort. Arthur's stomach growled once more, as Gwaine set forth on what was clearly going to be a long and elaborate tale. "It all began in the tavern…"

-x0x-

"Comfortable?" Merlin enquired.

Robin leaned back against the fresh pile of pillows and sighed. "Very. And I thank you both. Your kindness is overwhelming." He stared across the room for a while, watching Gaius sort through his remedies. "I forget. The healer said your name was…?"

"I'm Merlin." He shrugged, feeling awkward for some unknown reason.

"It's a good name," Robin told him solemnly.

"Thanks. I like it."

"Do you perhaps have… another?"

Warning bells sounded, ever so softly, in Merlin's head. "Nope. Just Merlin. Unless you count the names Arthur likes to call me on a daily basis… _I_ don't, as a general rule. Just… Merlin."

"And Arthur is… the king?"

"He is." So much pride behind that simple confirmation. It had been a hard road but the arrogant young prince had grown, and now he was the hope of all. _Except for you,_ whispered a mean little voice. _No magic in Camelot, still. Your fault and your failing, Emrys…_ Merlin pushed the doubt back into the dark place where it usually lingered, along with the strange, irrational fear that Robin's piercing eyes could see right through him, stealing every thought he tried to hide.

He shook his head to clear it. _I need sleep; that's the problem._ "Gwaine should be back soon. He has quite some skill when it comes to pilfering from the kitchen."

"'Pilfering'," Robin murmured. "Is he not a knight?"

"One of the very best," Merlin told him stoutly. "I mean, you should see him fight! Oh, wait; you have…" Humour tugged at the corners of his mouth, and Robin responded to the clumsy joke with an unexpected laugh.

"It was indeed an epic battle," the patient agreed. "No doubt it will be lauded far and wide, in song and story."

"If Gwaine has anything to do with that, I think you may be right." Merlin's back was aching and he stretched his arms out, yawning, just as the knight in question burst through the door, with no less a personage than the king in tow.

"Long night?" said Arthur to his servant, in an unusual burst of sympathy.

"Like you wouldn't believe," sighed Merlin.

"Try me," muttered the king, making an effort to mask his own weary features with a far more congenial expression of welcome and concern. "And this is your guest. Robin, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Arthur, and Sir Gwaine here has told me all about your troubles."

 _In great detail,_ Merlin guessed, catching the wicked twinkle in his friend's eye.

"Such a very fine kingdom is this, where the monarch makes even the meanest stranger welcome," Robin said softly.

To his credit, Arthur blushed. "Are you not a man like me?" he replied with quiet dignity. "So it is, in Camelot."

Robin nodded, closing his eyes as a wave of great exhaustion and relief rolled across his whole body for all to see. "Then I have found the place that I was looking for."


	4. Chapter 4

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Four**

" _ **There are times I almost think  
I am not sure of what I absolutely know."  
(The King and I: 'A Puzzlement')**_

-x0x-

Merlin woke up slowly with the vague and troubling sense that someone was standing over him.

He cracked an eye open cautiously. "Oh! Morning, Gaius."

"Yes, it is." The physician's tone was dry. "Good _morning_ , Merlin." There was something about his expression… Merlin opened the other eye and studied him, frowning with concentration. That was also the moment when he realised that he was on the floor. Like the trickle before a flood, details started to come back to him; innocent memories at first, but Merlin knew there had to be more.

"Alright – what did I do?"

"That's a very good question, you blessed boy." Was that… gratitude? Concern? _Am I actually awake?_ Merlin sat up carefully. Looking around him, he fully expected to see the wreckage of Gwaine's extraordinary indoor picnic, and the snoring, satiated figure of Gwaine himself. Neither were in evidence. Arthur had vanished as well.

"It's awfully clean in here," Merlin ventured warily. Gaius nodded. Something else? "Wait – where's Robin?" The cot was empty and the blanket neatly folded. Only a head-sized dent in one of the pillows remained to show that anyone had slept there. Merlin pushed against the fog in his brain and tried to sort the muddle that was last night into some kind of order.

Food. Lots of food. Well, _that_ had gone quickly – but Gaius had a bottle of something dark red and potent hidden away for a rainy day or a late night gathering of friends; some kind of fortified wine, his young charge suspected, made more powerful by age and, apparently, dust. Once he brought that out the stories had begun in earnest, sparked by Robin's eager questions. Tales of Camelot and knightly derring-do. Gwaine had been in his element. Arthur's tongue had loosened too. Even Merlin and Gaius had offered up one or two gems. "I was eloquent," Merlin said thoughtfully. "So were you."

Gaius gave a wonky grin. "Last night? I rather think that's the alcohol talking. I was entertaining. You were… garrulous."

"Ha!" Merlin's laugh was short. "That sounds more like it. You haven't told me what happened to Robin, though. Or why you're staring at me like that… Gaius, stop it!"

Instead of replying, the old man shifted slightly to one side. "I can't help it. I'm in shock. Merlin, you shouldn't have!"

"Thank… you?" Merlin said, still uncertain. Then he saw it, right beside his friend; the table loaded with ink-stained bottles. What was different? "Wait! The labels!"

"Merlin." Gaius crouched down and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please tell me… it wasn't magic, was it? Surely you wouldn't take such a risk – not with Arthur in the room? I would never forgive myself. The wine was my fault… and the pressure… I know you have so much to do, and I never meant for you to think you had to…"

"No, Gaius," Merlin reassured him quickly, stopping the guilty flow of words with a fond look and a simple statement: "I didn't use magic." Gaius closed his eyes before releasing the longest sigh that Merlin had ever witnessed. But the boy wasn't finished. "I didn't do it at all. I'd love to take credit for the task – and the state of this room, which is another miracle, by the way – but really, it wasn't me. I fell asleep when Arthur started to recite that boring old poem he learned from his tutor; the only one he knows, I think. He always trots it out when he's drunk and he wants to sound clever. I haven't moved since then. Unless…" He shuddered. "Unless I've started doing magic in my sleep." That was an unpleasant thought. Certainly, magic could seep into your dreams that way. Were Morgana here, and still on their side, she could tell them the truth of it. Yet, in spite of what both he and Gaius had witnessed as the witch's power came to life, Merlin had never even paused to consider that he, too, could reveal himself so unwittingly – a threat far more insidious than any alcohol-related lapse of judgement.

"Magic – or cleaning?" Gaius suggested in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Even worse," Merlin agreed, latching onto the joke as a welcome distraction. "Don't tell Arthur, whatever you do. He'd double my workload. Arthur…" _Uh-oh._

 _There it is,_ said the look on his guardian's face. "Well, I did try to wake you."

-x0x-

 _Late!_ Merlin raced through the castle to Arthur's chambers. It was a route he had taken so often in the past few years, he was probably wearing a groove in the old stone floors. His speed was both reckless and essential.

Along the way, he encountered Sir Leon. The man was skulking in the shadows, trying to reach his quarters without being seen. But seeing was not the only problem.

As he staggered to a halt, Merlin gagged and clapped a hand over his nose and mouth. "Oh. Oh! That's not a good smell," he cried ruefully through his fingers.

Leon flushed – at least, the parts of his face that were visible through the muck turned a lovely shade of red.

Merlin grabbed his arm and tugged him into a nearby alcove. "What happened? More trouble at the Rising Sun?"

Poor Leon shook his head. Merlin had never seen him look so utterly embarrassed. The expression did not suit him well. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were furtive. "I never made it back to the tavern. I can't explain what happened, Merlin. It was dark in the lower town and, much to my shame, I became… disorientated. When I saw a host of lights, I thought to ask my way." He shook his head. "After that… I truly don't remember. When I awoke this morning, I was lying in…"

"A pig sty," Merlin nodded, having finally placed the smell.

"Please don't tell the others," Leon said in a small voice. It was a fair request. If his knight-comrades or even the king himself caught wind of this – _so to speak,_ Merlin thought - their mockery would be relentless.

"Well then, take it from one who knows: you need a bath. _Several_ baths. And you might want to burn those clothes," Merlin advised the knight helpfully. "Or I don't think 'telling' will be the issue…"

Leon's face was woebegone as he nodded and slunk away, leaving only a vague whiff of pig in the alcove behind him.

-x0x-

For a man with less than three hours sleep under his belt, Arthur felt strangely invigorated. A basin of water, a clean shirt and a fresh breeze through an open window had combined to fill him with a cheerful sense of well-being that was almost as potent as the court physician's wine. His night had been odd but enjoyable. Every king should get the chance to sit on an old wooden floor, eat good food with his friends and swap stories, he thought. The comical image of King Alined, or gruff King Bayard, doing just that made his smile even broader.

When Merlin burst through the door, he greeted him with honest pleasure. " _There_ you are. Late again, of course. But I think we can overlook it for today."

Merlin's jaw dropped. Arthur laughed out loud. "A codfish is never a good look, Merlin. Close your mouth." He gestured to the open window. "If the wind changes, you'll be stuck like that – and I'll have to live with it."

"You're in a good mood," Merlin said.

"I'm always in a good mood."

"And you're dressed."

Arthur nodded. "Very observant."

"Did you sleep at _all_? You seem a little..." Merlin paused and Arthur fixed him with a humorous blue stare.

"Choose your words carefully. I have a mountain of work for you, but I can always add to it."

"…restless?" Merlin ventured warily. "Enthusiastic? Wide-awake, considering the wine you… _we_ drank last night?"

Arthur grinned to see his discomfort. Baiting Merlin always yielded comical results. "Yes, it was excellent. Kind of Gaius to share it. Tell me, how is your guest this morning?"

"Gone," said Merlin. "I thought you knew." When Arthur shook his head, intrigued, his servant continued. "Gaius thinks he must have been feeling much better. He slipped away in the early hours, when everyone was sleeping."

"An ungrateful guest."

"Not at all. He… erm… may have tidied up before he left. And I mean _tidied_."

"Pity," Arthur mused.

Merlin stared at him, nonplussed. "What do you mean?"

"It's a pity he left. I could do with a servant who actually knows how to clean a room…"

-x0x-

At times, dispensing justice could be tedious – a never-ending round of gripes and petty woes that left Arthur reeling with frustration though, as his father had before him, he always tried to give his subjects equal measure of his strained attention, and to be graceful under pressure. Those days were torture. This day was a joy. Each petition weighed and sorted brought a smile to Arthur's face. Every soul who left the Great Hall with their problem solved made him feel like a hero.

He watched the door with anticipation. _What next,_ he wondered, relishing the moment and resisting the urge to rub his hands together.

Even he was taken by surprise when Robin entered, followed by Gwaine, who kept a respectful distance, letting their visitor venture forward to speak for himself. No doubt, the knight was still affected by some guilty impulse and had offered his services as a guide to Camelot, not to mention a source of moral support. Arthur waited, so very curious to find out more about the mysterious stranger who had listened intently but volunteered little himself last night.

 _And isn't that suspicious, now I think about it…?_

The thought was like a cold rain shower on a sunny day. His good mood waning, Arthur watched the man approach. His mind was far more rational now and he studied the fellow with interest, looking for clues – and finding none. Robin's face was friendly and his dark eyes fixed on Arthur's face as he approached. The bruising had been softened by the application of some type of powder. Arthur doubted it had come from Gwaine. A woman's touch, perhaps? He half-suspected Guinevere… It would be just like her to assist a stranger, especially one like Robin, with his wistful gaze and his engaging manner.

Arthur found that he was smiling broadly once again, and fought against it, wishing to seem kingly and reserved. "Robin. May I welcome you officially to Camelot?" As he spoke, his gaze wandered downwards, taking in the man's dishevelled clothing – travel-worn but elegant; a heavily embroidered tunic worked in patchwork shades of autumn. A performer's garb, perhaps, or a merchant with a streak of imagination and the purse to accommodate his whims?

"You know this man?" said Arthur's uncle Agravaine, beside him. The implication was obvious: _really? This man?_ Agravaine frowned at Gwaine, his less-than-favourite knight of the realm. Gwaine nodded back with a twisted smile that spoke of _his_ opinion too, making Arthur frown.

"We met last night," the king said briefly, not wishing to let his uncle and the court be privy to the details.

"A merry meeting," Robin added, bowing with a flourish. Afraid that he would elaborate, Arthur cut him short.

"With a poor beginning. I trust you're much recovered now, sir?"

"I am indeed 'myself' _,_ " the stranger replied. "Thanks to the excellent work of your physician and his boy."

"Then how can I help you?" Tired of circling round the edges, Arthur cut right through to the heart of the matter.

Robin bowed his head politely, taking this subtle opportunity to compose himself like a true performer. Another clue. When a significant beat had passed, and all around were hushed in expectation, he took a deep breath, lifted his chin and began to weave his tale, enchanting his audience with the warmth of his voice and his dark-eyed gaze.

He was _very_ good, thought Arthur, spellbound in spite of himself.

"You see me now as a lost and lonely creature with no home to call my own and no friend to share my merry company along the way. But I was not always thus. I am – I _was_ the jester to a powerful king. In his great service, I was happy for a time. He loved my jokes and called for my stories at every grand occasion. I was the sharp edge to his shining blade. I could almost fool myself that we were equals; friends. But friendship is fickle, my lord, and servants should know their place, or so my master cried when I spoke against him in a matter that touched my heart. He is not… a patient king. His realm is a dangerous place to be when his mind is upon you and he is less than pleased. And so, my lord, I fled. Many roads have I travelled. I took the moon as my guide, and a ballad as my road map, seeking the land of which I had heard tell in song and story; Camelot, the home of Arthur and his knights. Camelot, the shining jewel." Closing his eyes, he sang a soft refrain:

" _For when the night is full of fear  
And hope is nowhere to be found,  
The moon shall in the sky appear  
A sign that wonders still abound.  
If I do stay  
On her bright way  
And take the white path, clear and true,  
My weary soul  
Will soon be whole;  
In Camelot restored anew."_

The last note held its own against the silence in the room, until it died away at last and the spell was broken. Arthur swallowed.

"Tell me the name of this king," he said. His cultured voice sounded brutish to his own ears and he shook his head as though to clear it. _Information,_ he thought stubbornly. _I need more._

Robin shook his head as well; a flat refusal, couched in golden terms: "I do not wish to demean him here. As king yourself, you must see how that is. I was his loyal servant and my loyalty remains, if his does not. Besides, his noble ears are as sharp as his sword, your Highness. A jest, of sorts, but my life is valuable to me and I would not risk it with such a needless betrayal."

"Then what do you ask of me? A man cannot serve two masters; isn't that how the saying goes?"

"I _serve_ him no longer. I _would_ serve you. What do I ask of you? Only a trial, to show that my skill and intentions are true. There is much I can bring to your kingdom, my lord. I may have no possessions but I have my wit, and a treasury of tales to share. Invisible wonders. Will you not partake?"

His eloquence was so overwhelming that Arthur could not see through to form an opinion. Grasping at the one phrase Robin had used that appealed to him, he gave his wary judgement, praying it was not a grave mistake. The man had charm, but charm could be used as a weapon. Still, he could not live his life in fear. And trust needed to be earned. How could Robin do that if they turned him away? "A trial? Perhaps. One month to prove yourself – if any man will speak for you, and stand in surety? I do not know you, sir, and you'll pardon me if I'm wary of strangers in these troubled times."

"I'll keep an eye on him, if you like," said a voice from the back of the room. Gwaine stepped forward and nodded once to Arthur and once to Robin, who looked profoundly grateful and a little… amused? "Your Highness."

 _I smell a conspiracy,_ sighed Arthur - but the deal was done, the condition met, and… "It seems as though we have ourselves a jester," he announced to the room at large.

 _I only hope the joke won't be on me..._

-x0x-

 **A/N: Many thanks to 1917farmgirl for her encouragement! I certainly wouldn't be writing this without her.**

 **I'm also grateful for all the lovely reviews. It's so good to know that people are enjoying this story!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Five**

" _ **Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -  
I took the one less travelled by."  
(Robert Frost)**_

-x0x-

"Like to shake things up, don't you, Robin? Cause a stir?"

"So said the pot to the kettle, my _lord_ ," Robin answered airily, sweeping a bow in Gwaine's direction.

"Oh, trust me, I'm not complaining," the knight replied with a grin of amusement. They were strolling along the corridor, side by side. Every person they passed made a point of 'not looking' but they could hear the whispers that floated behind them like an airy train. "Nor am I a lord, so you can stop all the bowing and the scraping." He paused and folded his arms. "And don't bother poking me with a stick just to see what happens. Maybe I don't have your elegant words but I know the same tricks you do."

"Noted." Robin's tone was mild but his eyes were full of sly approval. "Should I take this as a challenge?"

Gwaine laughed and held out his hand. "If you wish."

Together, they shook on it. Robin had a firm grip and his skin was cool. "Your fever's gone," Gwaine observed. "I'm glad to see you're better. Means Gaius won't have my head for liberating you while he slept."

"I was ready to leave. Why take up any more of the healer's precious time when I had found my strength? You simply showed me the way, as I asked. For that, and for everything else, I thank you."

"Well, now I'm showing you the way to someone who can find you a better place to lay your head than the floor of my own messy quarters."

"Kindness is always comfortable," the jester offered sagely. Gwaine flushed with good-natured embarrassment and changed the subject as they continued on their way. Time to do a little poking of his own.

"So, this old king of yours – is _he_ kind?"

Robin studied his long fingers. His reply, when it came, was a riddle:

" _Fire burns  
Water freezes  
Wind breaks  
Love teases._

 _Fire warms  
Water flows  
Wind sighs  
Love knows."_

"Poetry again. You mean he's complicated," Gwaine surmised. Robin nodded. "Aren't we all? You're also telling me I'm not about to get a better answer." Once more, a nod. "Fair enough. I know how it is with secrets. Some you ought to spill, but some you get to keep and savour like an ageing wine." His manner was deceptively careless. Robin intrigued him far more than he cared to admit. "Here we are then," he added, halting outside a dark wooden door.

The room was Morgana's. The Witch, as he preferred to call her, had left it long ago but someone stirred inside. Gwaine liked to think that he was an observant man. He knew who haunted this troublesome place. He knew about the fresh linen and the polished table, and the wildflowers that she left in a tiny silver vase; echoes of a past life when she was maid to a good woman. He knew how Guinevere mourned for her mistress; the woman Morgana used to be, not the bitter, twisted creature she was now. There was no love for Gwen in Morgana's heart – nor anyone else, since the death of Morgause - yet Gwen still cared enough in return to remember what had once been precious. That was the kind of person she was. Gwaine saw it all and said nothing. Secrets. Sometimes you kept them for a friend.

Gwen knew that _he_ knew, of course, being equally observant. Which was why she only jumped a little when he stepped into the room. "I was just cleaning," she sighed. "Dust gathers so quickly."

"That's what Merlin tells me," Gwaine agreed.

Robin glanced around him. "Whose room is this? Not yours, my lady?"

"No, indeed." Gwen's smile was pensive. "Though I know every nook and cranny. My mistress lived here. She's… gone now."

"Ah." The jester shook his head, clearly believing he understood. "You have my sympathy."

"Thank you, Robin." Moving forward, she took his hands; the same kindly gesture she had used this morning when Gwaine and his new friend approached her on the stairs and begged for a woman's advice. "Now tell me. How did your audience go with the king?"

"Your powder was a blessing," he told her gratefully. "All were enchanted by my appearance and my tale; your Arthur in particular."

"My Arthur?" Gwen blushed.

"Is it not so? My apologies. I was misled…" The look he turned upon Gwaine was obvious, causing the knight to cough and shuffle his feet.

"You know," Gwaine said hastily, "I really ought to be going. I'm due to leave on patrol with the others at noon. Guinevere…" His face took on its most pleading expression. "One more favour? For our guest?"

"Your charm will be your downfall one day, Sir Knight," she warned him laughing. Which, as any fool could tell, meant 'yes'.

-x0x-

Having left Robin in Guinevere's capable hands, Gwaine ran full tilt – three steps at a time on the main staircase – all the way to the courtyard where the other knights were already mounting up.

"You're late," Leon observed, looking rather pink-cheeked and well-scrubbed. His hair was a mass of damp curls.

"He's been 'fooling' around," quipped Elyan.

"Arthur doesn't need another jester." Percival gave a broad smile and raised his eyebrows. "He's already got one…"

"Is that the best you boys can do?" Gwaine demanded, striding forward to claim his horse.

"For now. There's a long ride ahead of us," his tall friend said cheerfully, passing the reins. "Give it time."

Their pace was gentle as they left the castle and made their way through the bustling streets of the town below. People smiled to see them as they passed by. Some even waved or called out to them. The four knights were well known in Camelot, and extremely popular. Once they were out on the open road, however, and their way was clear, they let their mounts gather speed with a measure of glee at this moment of freedom. Leon took the lead as the space between them opened out. Gwaine was content to hang back. Three red cloaks billowed in the distance; easy enough to follow. Besides, he trusted his horse. In the meantime, he had things to think about.

Needless to say, it was Robin who occupied most of his thoughts. Last night's guilt had shifted and settled into an abiding curiosity. And when Gwaine was curious, he gnawed at the problem like a dog with a meaty bone. The king's new jester was a puzzle waiting to be solved – _by me_ , Gwaine thought with relish. Straightforward questions had yielded no return, and if he heard another poem he would probably groan out loud. Time to think around the edges. Time to take a new approach. "You want to be mysterious?" he muttered. "Watch the shadows. That's where I'll be. I promised Arthur I'd keep my eye on you and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I like you, Robin - or whatever your name is. Doesn't mean I trust you…"

A sudden impulse made him glance ahead to check that none of his fellow knights had seen him talking to thin air. That was when he noticed something rather unexpected.

None of his fellow knights were actually there.

Gwaine pulled his horse to a staggering halt. For pity's sake, what now?

Two paths lay before him, at the entrance to a rambling wood. One was the route they had planned to take – a wide road that circled the trees; open, safe… Any sensible man would travel this way and Leon, at least, was eminently sensible. But the second path… Gwaine was drawn to it intensely; why, he could not fathom. He knew the wood very well, but the light was strange today and flickered through the trees like a burning flame. Nudging his horse beneath the twisted arch of trees that framed the entrance, Gwaine chose to leave the open air behind him and embrace the eerie atmosphere.

His friends had come this way. He knew it, even before he saw the sunken hoofprint in a patch of mud.

The light drew him onwards. Gwaine's head began to spin. His tongue felt thick and clumsy as he opened his mouth and tried to call out, in a croaking voice: "Percival? Elyan? This isn't funny. Leon? Joke's over, my friend."

Nothing. No whisper; not even a breath of air. He began to think of turning back, but there was a subtle sense of wrongness all around him and he could not leave the others if there was even a chance they were somewhere ahead of him. As the woods grew darker, one little light detached itself from the flickering mass, which was far more substantial than he had realised. It moved towards him in mid-air like a candle flame in the hands of an invisible sprite. Gwaine raised his hand to brush it away but it lingered just out of reach, as though it guessed his intention and thought he was hilarious. "Are you taunting me?" said the wary knight indignantly. His voice grew stronger. If this was magic, he was determined to keep his wits.

The little flame danced along the path, before pausing to beckon him onwards.

"Don't tell me," he grumbled. "I'm supposed to follow you. That's not happening, just so you know."

Once again, it repeated the movement. Two more glowing lights bumbled over to join it. Gwaine began to feel quite alarmed. These creatures were strange - but surely not vicious?

As they continued to hover in front of him and three became four... five... _six_ , he drew his sword, knowing full well that it would afford him little protection.

Could they harm him? Were they deadly? He had no desire to find out for himself.

All at once, the flames shrank together tightly. Then they turned around and fled back to the safety of the larger fire. Something had spooked them - which was ironic, given the circumstances. Gwaine's ears pricked up as he heard a muffled cry.

"Help!" said the distant voice, and it sounded just like Elyan.

Gwaine kicked his heels and the horse leapt ahead. Behind him, the strange fire rose in the dim light, settling in the treetops where it continued to burn with restless energy as the knight departed.


	6. Chapter 6

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Six**

 ** _"_** ** _Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve."  
(Brian Jacques)_**

-x0x-

The way grew darker. Gwaine slowed his horse reluctantly as the trees closed in like a hostile crowd at an execution. In the end, he realised his only option was to dismount altogether. Lashing the reins to a nearby branch, he stepped into the middle of the narrow path and stared around in consternation. Now that the flickering light was behind him and the boughs were heavy overhead, he could almost imagine he was lost in a twilight world, far from Camelot and all he knew for certain. Yet he had travelled these woods many times – so how could that be?

A rustling nearby made him twitch. He cast a dark glance at the impertinent crow which hopped from the undergrowth. "You're no help," he told it. "You've got me jumping at shadows. Shoo!"

It tilted its sleek head to study him in return. _And you're a fool,_ its black eyes seemed to say. _Stop talking to me. Find your friends._

Of course, the crow was right. At least, it would be if Gwaine didn't already know that the thought originated with his own guilty conscience. "I wasn't paying attention," he confessed to the feathery rascal as it stabbed at the brown leaves, tossing them this way and that in its search for a tasty treat. "Now I'm the only one left. I _have_ to find them. Something isn't right here – you know that too, don't you?"

 _Peck, peck… toss. Peck, peck…_ The crow stopped what it was doing and stared at him. Then it lifted its wings, took a stumbling run and hopped into the air, weaving through the net of branches with a skill that Gwaine found surprising. "Carr!" it screamed as it circled around and dragged its claws across the top of his head. The knight threw up his hand and ducked, just a little too late, as the crow pulled away, leaving only a feather that fell to the ground at his feet. The scratches were shallow but stung like the devil.

"What? Come back here, you wretched bird. What harm did I ever do to you?" Gwaine shouted, waving his fist in the air. Behind him, his horse gave a gentle snort that sounded far too much like laughter. "This is a bad dream. Lost in a wood, and all Nature's against me. Talk about terrible odds."

 _Yes, and you've had worse,_ he chided himself. Now was not the time to lose his head altogether. He raked a hand through his hair, wincing as it came away speckled with blood. The crow had disappeared but Gwaine had watched it go. So he needed to choose a direction? Well then, maybe the bird did know something…

 _You really are a fool, Sir Knight,_ he thought grimly. And yet…

And yet it was the only plan he had. With a scowl of disbelief at his own stupidity, he picked up the fallen feather, jamming it into his mail shirt like some kind of talisman, paid for in blood. He had a vain hope that it might appease whatever spirit had it in for him. That done, he drew his sword and gripped it tightly. Then he forced his way into the undergrowth, cursing crows and lights and his own ill-fortune loudly as he went.

 _Help,_ cried Elyan in the distance.

The horse, left all alone, watched a tiny light pass by and shook its head nervously…

-x0x-

Chain mail was handy in combat but worse than useless when you were fighting your way through unfriendly terrain. Every twig and bramble seemed to snag in the metal links. Gwaine was heartily sick of stopping to release himself. He thought about dragging the mail shirt over his head and abandoning it, but knew how unwise that would probably turn out to be. Instead, he clenched his jaw and pushed on, almost to the limit of his strength - until he stumbled into a muddy clearing and found Elyan at last.

"You took… your time," the young knight grumbled. "Stop for… a nap, did you?" His words were sour but his eyes were full of relief. He, too, was exhausted.

Gwaine surveyed the problem, trying not to laugh. "Of course not," he replied. "I knew you were in peril." In a _bog_ , though. Talk about misfortune. Really, he shouldn't be smiling... A steep slope lay before him. He could see the tracks where Elyan had lost his balance and slithered down to the mire below. The air smelled rank; of pondweed and foul water choked with mud. _I need to go carefully here,_ he thought. Elyan, up to his neck in the bog, did not appear to be sinking but there was no way he could climb out. _And how am I going to reach him?_

"Where's your horse?" he asked, as his thoughts ran sideways in search of a solution.

"I don't know. I don't… remember." Elyan's voice was full of confusion. When he spoke, his chin bobbed beneath the surface and his mouth filled with muck. He spat it out at once, almost retching with disgust, and paddled with his hands to try and stay upright. "How did I get here, Gwaine?"

"Well, if _you_ don't know…" Gwaine left the observation hanging. "Can you feel the bottom?"

"No," was the heartfelt reply.

Gwaine crouched down at the top of the slope and studied the descent with care. Then he stood up. "Tell me what you _do_ remember," he suggested lightly, as he unbuckled his belt and removed first his cloak, then his mail shirt after all, tossing them onto the ground behind him. The belt and sword, he took up again. Slowly but surely, a plan was forming in his mind.

"I was riding along with the rest of you," Elyan said. "There was… some kind of insect. Or was it a light...?"

"Thought as much," his would-be-rescuer grunted, steeling himself for what came next. He draped the belt around his neck, clutched the hilt of his sword tightly and stepped over the edge, causing Elyan to cry out in horror.

A rush of air spun past Gwaine's ears as the ground fell away beneath him. He slithered and staggered, but managed to twist enough to ram his sword deep into the mud halfway down the slope. To his great relief, the blade sank out of sight and his makeshift anchor held, just as he lost his footing altogether. Landing flat on his stomach, he grunted – but his grip was firm.

After that, he took a moment to recover. _Hanging over a stinking bog,_ he thought to himself. _Lovely way to spend an afternoon._ The stench was awful by now. Elyan was going to owe him a mighty favour.

The young knight was watching him anxiously. "Your belt?" he guessed.

"My belt," Gwaine confirmed. "If you think I'm coming any closer…" He clenched his teeth and removed his left hand from the sword hilt. The knuckles on his right hand showed the added strain; taut white skin that gleamed through the mud and the scratches.

"Believe me… you don't want to. Come on, Gwaine. Get me out of here." There was a subtle note of panic in Elyan's voice.

"That's the plan," his friend said, as he unwound the long belt with his free hand, gripped it just below the buckle and let the length of it tumble, like a dragon's tongue unfurling, down to Elyan's outstretched fingers.

It was _almost_ long enough.

Gwaine gave a heavy sigh and unlocked his elbow, lowering himself even further. His position was now far less stable. Nonetheless, he grinned fiercely when he heard Elyan's cry of triumph. "Got it! Now what? Can you pull me?"

"Doubtful. Can you climb?"

"I can," Elyan assured him fervently. "Ready?" He tugged at the belt experimentally.

"Not really," Gwaine joked. "Sure you don't want to stay down there?" Sweat was trickling into his eyes, making them sting. He blinked, and then cursed as the weight on the belt increased, almost snapping his wrist. His teeth were a wall that held back his cry of pain. "You really need… to cut down on… the pies," he growled, when he was able.

"Are you saying I eat too much? Really? You?" Elyan's voice was close now, much to Gwaine's relief. The young knight grabbed at his foot. Mud and pebbles rained down, scattering into the bog with glee.

"Just… climb, Elyan."

"Over you?"

"Over me. Come _on_ now. I can't do this… for much longer."

Elyan, still wearing his chain mail over his sodden clothes, was the weight that almost drove them both down into the mire. He scrambled over his friend, boots digging in relentlessly, finding all the uncomfortable footholds: calf, back, shoulder, head… "Ow!" cried Gwaine, as Elyan's heel caught the scratches on his scalp. And then, without warning, the pressure was gone. He risked a glance upwards. Dirt filled his mouth and nose but the sight was worth it. Elyan grinned down at him from the top of the slope. The knight was grubby but intact as he held out his hand to return the favour.

 _Thank you_ said the look in his eyes, far more eloquent than words.

-x0x-

They lay on their backs for a long while, staring up at the clouds through the ragged hole in the canopy. Both men were filthy and tired. Gwaine did not fail to observe that Elyan was shivering. The sun was hidden, far above them, and the castle was leagues away. "I need to look for the others," Gwaine said, rising at last to reclaim his cloak and mail shirt with a rueful look as his aching muscles protested. "You should stay here. I'll light a fire."

Elyan shook his head stubbornly. "We stick together," he insisted, hugging himself to keep the tell-tale shivering at bay. "You'll need my help. Besides, I don't want to stay here a moment longer than I have to. You'd do the same, if you were me," he added quickly, when Gwaine opened his mouth to object.

"True enough." Hauling Elyan to his feet, Gwaine scanned the circle of trees that hemmed them in. Long shadows were spilling out into the clearing. There was no easy choice to make, and no crow to guide him this time. Holding the lost feather in his hand, he stroked it absently.

"What's that?" said Elyan, watching him.

"Just a feather," he muttered, reluctant to explain the curious twist of fate that had led him to the mire in the first place. In the dark wood, tiny lights were flickering. Gwaine turned his back on them pointedly and aimed for a gap in the trees where the shadows were at their deepest. "This way."

"Are you sure?"

"What do _you_ think?" Strapping on his belt and sword, he forged his own swift path like an angry boar, cracking twigs and crushing ferns underfoot in his haste to be done with this day, and these cursed woods. Elyan stumbled along behind him, brave and weary. Time lost all meaning. They were trapped in a half-world, doomed to wander, searching for all eternity. Now and then, they paused to shout out but their cries were not returned. In their wake, the little lights were following. Gwaine ignored them grimly. Elyan shuddered and moved closer to his companion.

Night had almost fallen – or so they believed – when both men stumbled to an unexpected halt. There was _something_ about this part of the woods that made Gwaine's skin prickle in fear _._ A strange kind of thickness to the air around him, clutching at his throat like a sob, half-formed and wretched. He looked around for the lights but they had vanished. Only the feeling remained, and the black leaves, whispering above them.

"There!" cried Elyan, pointing. Gwaine grabbed his arm.

"Not yet," he murmured, with uncharacteristic restraint. "Slowly. And together."

They inched forward through the trees. Another clearing lay before them, lit by the first rays of moonlight which fell like silver streams of water through the drifting clouds. It was there they found Sir Leon and Sir Percival. Both men were kneeling in an attitude of penitence and sorrow. There was no one else to be seen - nothing holding them there - but the knights did not move.

"Leon," Gwaine called out hoarsely, his sharp eyes darting this way and that. Expectations were not good. This place was so very wrong; he could sense it. "Percival?"

Elyan inched forward, one step at a time. "Look," he whispered. "See the statue? I think I know where we are, Gwaine. There are legends… Of a murder in the woods. Of a druid child, long ago…"

Gwaine was startled to see tears forming in the young man's eyes. He was even more startled to feel them trickling down his own cheeks. Crying was a weakness he did _not_ indulge; preferring to drive away his sorrow with defiant humour or a healthy tavern brawl. So why was he longing to howl like a babe in arms? "What is it?" he hissed. "What evil spell is on this place?"

"The evil here belonged to man, not magic." Elyan sighed, dropping to his knees before the clumsy wooden statue of a little girl. A tangle of vines hid the base. He pushed them away and read the bitter inscription there. " _'Strangers caused my grief, so I will cause the grief of strangers. See my daughter's face and weep. My vigil is now yours to keep._ '"

"Feels like magic to me." It was hard to speak. Gwaine's throat ached with unexpressed emotion, and he fought against the maddening desire to kneel beside the other knights. Elyan did not answer him. His eyes were closed and his head was sinking into a penitent pose before the little statue. _She was pretty,_ Gwaine found himself thinking. _Must have been a violent end. So sad…_ He let his body drop, jarring his knees against the unforgiving earth. His thoughts were blurring, many into one. Sorrow was his whole world now, and he welcomed it, stricken by a guilt that was not his to bear…

A sharp pain stabbed his hand. Looking down in shock, he saw the feather, hopelessly mangled by his own careless fingers. The shaft had been driven deep into his palm. Bright blood welled all around it. Several drops fell to the ground; yet more still as he pulled out the feather and tossed it aside.

 _Blood for blood,_ sang a voice in his head – and the sorrow shifted, almost imperceptibly. Gwaine swallowed. His mouth was dry. Now he understood. Now he knew how to rescue his friends; not to mention himself, if he could only survive this reckless solution.

Above him, several tiny lights had gathered once again. They hovered in a tense knot, pulsing eagerly, as though they were watching him, and waiting.

"Blood for blood," Gwaine whispered, unsheathing his sword…


	7. Chapter 7

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Seven**

" _ **Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back."  
(Peter S. Beagle)**_

-x0x-

Gwaine had always believed he would meet his end in some reckless act of bravery – that, or stupidity; both were plausible. It could be said that Death and the knight had a truce, of sorts, in which one took all the risks and the other merely waited, knowing his time would come. Life was for living and death was the forfeit you paid when the game was over. What followed was bound to be another adventure... or maybe just a peaceful sleep. Either way, Gwaine chose to face his dark foe boldly whenever the shadow of Death drew near; to prove himself the brave knight that others believed him to be.

On his knees in the dark wood, he clenched his fist to keep his hand from shaking.

"Fear is my enemy," Gwaine said grimly, staring at the silent men beside him. _"_ These are my friends. The curse ends with me. D'you hear that?" he challenged the cluster of tiny lights. "I know you're listening."

What choice did he have, anyhow? None at all, short of leaving the others behind, which wasn't an option; not ever. He could drag them from the clearing, of course – well, maybe not Percival; the man was huge – but what then? How would he wake them if they were still trapped in their heads? Even Gaius would struggle with that, he was certain. "I'm a gambler, not a physician," Gwaine told the woods at large. "I know the odds. There's only one solution here that gives me a chance of winning. Doesn't mean I have to like it – pretty sure I won't - but I'm going to do it anyway."

Setting down his sword for just a moment, he stripped off not only his cloak and chain mail this time but the padded jerkin and his shirt as well. There was a chill in the air that he had not anticipated. Its touch on his skin made him shiver. An icy tear still lingered in the corner of his eye. He dashed it away, choosing warm anger over cold grief. _Now or never._

Gwaine snatched up the sword and set the blade to his forearm. As a knight, he knew all too well the points where a man would bleed freely when cut – how to drain a body quickly if the terrible need arose, though he had never put that knowledge into practice. Yet he did not wish to cripple himself entirely, or to abandon the faint hope that he could leave this place alive.

"One cut," he begged the little wooden statue, feeling ashamed of his weakness even as he did so. "Please let one cut be enough…"

The girl's rough-hewn face watched him sadly as he sliced his own skin open for the sake of a broken heart and a young life destroyed, years ago. For the sake of friendship.

The pain was intense; not the worst he had known, but to deal it to himself was a new sensation. Gwaine held his breath, full of horror at his own deed. He watched the blood drip slowly, willing the spell to break as the earth turned red beneath his outstretched arm. Every instinct screamed at him to clamp his palm over the wound but he ground his teeth together and resisted. _Blood for blood._ His mind was so clear by now that it threatened to fracture like a broken mirror. The curse had left him altogether but his friends were still in its thrall. Percival shifted a little and heaved a sigh that gave Gwaine the courage to continue. One cut? Of course not; how could one cut ever be enough to pay for the loss of a child? The true cost was unthinkable.

"Whatever it takes. I'll pay it," he growled.

With a shuddering breath of acceptance, Gwaine set the blade to his skin once more.

-x0x-

Merlin stood at Arthur's window, breathing in the night air. As the darkness deepened, life in the citadel and the lower town became a host of lights around which people gathered. Fire was a symbol of hope in the night, and protection for these people. Merlin closed his mind to the truth that every element had its destructive side as well. He was determined to enjoy this peaceful moment, a bright spot in his busy day…

"Merlin!"

Ah well. Moment over. "Yes?" he said, turning around.

"Yes, _my lord_ ," Arthur prompted, with a gleam in his eye that spoke of frank good humour. Merlin was glad to see that his buoyant mood still lingered. Lately, Arthur's burden had been a heavy one. The throne of Camelot was no golden prize to be won, as Morgana chose to believe. Every day, there were difficult decisions to be made and new cares to be shouldered alone.

 _Not alone._ Merlin smiled at his king.

"Stop grinning like an idiot. Whatever are you staring at out there? It's the courtyard, Merlin. You see it every day."

"It's your kingdom, _my lord_ ," Merlin answered him quietly. "It's beautiful. The lights are like stars that have fallen to earth."

"Very poetic. Clearly, Robin's fancy turn of phrase is catching." Nonetheless, Arthur seemed pleased. When Merlin turned back to the view, his master joined him. Together they stood, side by side in comfortable silence – until a clattering of hooves surprised them.

Merlin leaned out perilously, peering through the gloom. "No riders," he announced. "That's pretty strange. Wait… isn't that Elyan's horse?"

"And Gwaine's too. I'd know her anywhere." Arthur's expression was troubled. The second horse appeared to have a broken branch tangled in her reins. Both mounts reared in agitation when a couple of guards rushed up to try and restrain them. "Come on!"

They charged through the castle and practically leapt down the main staircase. Outside, the cold stole Merlin's breath away. "Where… where d'you think they came from?" he gasped, doubling over, his hands on his knees.

Gwaine's horse grew quiet at last under Arthur's firm hand. The king untied the branch from her twisted reins. It was pale and wrapped in a loose skin of old bark; a limb from a tree that had seen little sunlight. He brandished it under Merlin's nose.

"Does this answer your question?"

"Not really. Besides, I have more. Where are the knights? And the other two horses? Why did they come back alone?" Worry was making him frantic. "We have to find them," he finished urgently. Arthur frowned – and nodded.

"You're right, of course." As Merlin's eyebrows rose at the unexpected compliment, Arthur caught himself and tried to recover. "Don't let it go to your head."

-x0x-

Gwaine lay on his back. The clouds shifted and the sky became the earth, far away. He was floating. His wounds were fire and his forehead was ice. His life force was draining away and he could not help himself. He only hoped his sacrifice had been enough. There was no more strength left in him. _Blood for blood._

He closed his eyes. The darkness was a welcome relief from the tilting illusion.

"Who did this?" said a voice above... or was that below him? It seemed familiar.

"I think he did it himself – take a look at his sword!" That was Percival, he knew.

"Awake," Gwaine muttered, trying to explain. "Broken now?" _The curse,_ he added silently, finding it hard to patch his random thoughts together into a coherent sentence. His brain was light, like a feather. _Crow's feather…_

"We were enchanted. He saved us," Elyan told them solemnly. Gwaine felt a strange sense of happiness and peace.

"'M a proper hero."

Leon – the first voice – was shaken but practical. "You'll be a dead hero if we don't get you out of here," he said. "You need Gaius – and plenty of bandages."

A ripping sound, and then a tightness around his arm, binding the wounds he had dealt himself so deliberately. "Hey – ow!" he protested. "My shirt?"

"Well, it was. Can you walk?" said Percival, close to his ear.

Good question. He opened his eyes and tried to raise his head. Never had it felt so heavy. "Um, no," he conceded. "Carry me?" His urge to leave the wood was suddenly much stronger than his urge to sleep.

Percival's arm slipped beneath him, lifting him into a sitting position. He swayed, feeling sick. Leon used his own cloak to cover Gwaine's trembling shoulders, heedless of the blood that stained his skin.

"Lights?" said the weary knight. Were they watching still?

"Gone for now," said Elyan with feeling. Gwaine nodded gratefully.

"I c'n stand," he decided, and began to push himself up.

Leon gave a snort of disbelief. "I doubt it." Meanwhile, moving swiftly, Percival cradled Gwaine like a child and rose to his feet. Holding back the contents of his stomach, which were even more unsettled by the heady rush of motion, Gwaine was surprised to find that he felt both helpless and safe in the strong man's arms.

"Owe me," he told them vaguely. "Double for Elyan."

"You'd better stick around to claim that bet," was the young man's fervent reply.

 _Oh, believe me,_ Gwaine thought, floating above the ground for real this time. _I intend to._

-x0x-

A night ride was always a strange experience, one that Merlin secretly enjoyed. Of course, when you have ridden a dragon, a horse can only seem tame by comparison, but still – to fly through the darkness, moving in harmony with your mount… To feel the wind on your cheeks; in your hair; driving out the cobwebs from your brain… He longed to shout with joy, as he did when he rode Kilgharrah. Instead, he forced himself to think about where they were going, and why. Ahead of him, Arthur was silent and focussed. Behind him, a trio of knights brought up the rear.

A cold rain was falling; the leading edge of a heavier shower, no doubt. With luck, they would reach the woods before it became unbearable. A secret, whispered spell would dry his own clothing surreptitiously but he would never dare try the same trick on Arthur. He couldn't help grinning as he pictured his king in rusty armour. Then his grin faded as he remembered who would have to polish it tomorrow.

The little band reached a fork in the road, where an arch of trees awaited them, like the entrance to a labyrinth. Arthur slowed his horse, which gave a low whinny. Even through the rain, Merlin could hear the answering call. He sighed with relief – but his hopes were soon dashed when the two missing animals cantered out to meet them, riderless and spooked beyond all sensible behaviour. They did not stop, but pounded past the group, heading into the darkness and the driving rain. Merlin could only hope that they would find their way home. He hoped the same for himself and his friends as well. The woods had never felt so unfamiliar; not dangerous, exactly, but tense as though the trees were waiting…

And then the lights appeared.

"Magic," Arthur breathed, full of dismay. To the king, it was an alarming sight. Merlin, on the other hand, could not help but find it beautiful. The tiny, glowing creatures hovered in the branches all along the edge of the wood but particularly near the entrance, gathering together in a silent swarm. They transformed the leaves, turning midnight black to golden green. Yet the rain kept falling, and the air moved normally around them. Nature did not run amok, as it had during his life-saving encounter with the Vilia. Lancelot... Merlin swallowed. Lancelot had described the way those kindly spirits rose from the water, suspended, and their haunting words. This, too, was a magical encounter, but something very different. The veil between the worlds was no longer torn, yet these creatures still roamed freely, which meant they belonged in a way the Vilia did not. Merlin was enchanted.

"We should go in there," he said.

Arthur turned to stare at him. "You're either surprisingly brave tonight, or surprisingly stupid. You don't seem to be afraid."

"Are you?" said Merlin recklessly. "Our friends are in there; I'd stake my life on it."

"You may have to," Arthur told him archly, nudging his reluctant horse onward. The three knights followed them both, staring upwards in wary fascination.

 _Emrys…_

As they entered the woods and the rain became nothing more than a distant rattle overhead, Merlin felt rather than heard the lights call out to him. They knew his name, apparently, and tossed it back and forth among the treetops but said little else, even though he pleaded with them in his mind: _Have you seen four knights? Do you know where they are? Will you help me?_

 _Emrys,_ they giggled, and he found that he was smiling. Several of them floated down to investigate, drifting behind him like stardust. Merlin sent his horse stumbling closer to Arthur's mount, trying to hide the fact that he had been singled out.

"So you _are_ scared, Merlin."

"Not really. Look, they're following us," he offered brightly. "I don't think they mean us any harm."

Now that Merlin and the knights had travelled some distance beneath the canopy of leaves, they could see that their way was lit quite clearly; a shimmering tunnel that followed the path. Merlin narrowed his eyes and peered along it. Was that… movement? Did his eyes deceive him? "Arthur," he breathed, "are you seeing this? Tell me I'm right."

Instead of answering his question, Arthur kicked his heels and spurred his horse on down the dirt path, trailing Merlin, knights and glowing creatures in his wake. "Sir Leon!" he called out, causing Merlin's heart to leap. "I am _so_ very glad to see you all." Dismounting, Arthur hurried forward just as Merlin drew close enough to catch his first real glimpse of the sorry group and their condition.

Percival and Leon were deathly pale, like spectres. Elyan was covered in mud from head to toe – a curious echo of Leon's earlier mishap - but seemed healthy enough, as far as Merlin could tell.

Gwaine, on the other hand…

Merlin's feet hit the dirt and he ran, overtaking Arthur in his haste. There was a tightness to Percival's features that spoke of his exhaustion and, as the tall knight staggered to a halt, Merlin reached out and helped him lower Gwaine to the earth, where he lay in a heap, staring up in surprise.

"Merlin," said the man in a faint voice quite unlike his usual mocking tone. "Great timing. This oaf… no strength at all."

"How far?" said Arthur quietly to Leon.

"Farther than I wish to dwell upon, my lord. Gwaine is right. Your timing is… fortuitous."

"For which you can thank your horses." Arthur gave a brief smile when he saw the confusion on Leon's face. Then he crouched down beside Merlin. "Report," he told Gwaine. The request was far from heartless. Merlin had already lifted the cloak and discovered the strips of familiar cloth wrapped here and there about the knight's blood-stained body. His examination was causing Gwaine some distress, a condition which Arthur clearly hoped to alleviate by means of distraction. "Are we in danger here? Who did this to you?"

"A brave knight," Elyan interjected, also crouching down so that Gwaine could hear him.

"Wait – you did this to _yourself_?" Merlin felt aghast as he solved the puzzle of Elyan's words by watching Gwaine's shifting eyes.

"Not… my finest hour." Gwaine shrugged, and winced. His lips were almost bloodless but he clung to his humour like a drowning man clings to a broken spar.

"I beg to differ," Leon offered solemnly.

Gwaine reached out with shaking fingers and gripped Merlin's tunic, dragging his friend's ear close. "Must be dying after all," he sighed. "Leon… finally complimenting me…"

-x0x-

 **A/N: I've had such lovely reviews for this story so far! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Thank you to everyone who is sticking with it, and especially those who have taken the time to comment.**

 ** _Many_ thanks to Farmgirl for her reassurance when I doubted.**

 **Now then, I'd better get poor Gwaine back to Camelot…**


	8. Chapter 8

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Eight**

" _ **The simple act of caring is heroic."  
(Edward Albert)**_

-x0x-

Five horses and four weary souls to bear home. Arthur did the calculations quickly. Finding small details he could control helped him cope with the strangeness that seemed to be his life these days. Since Merlin was the physician's apprentice, he placed Sir Gwaine in the young man's care. The wounded knight slumped forwards, barely able to support himself and clearly glad of Merlin's arms around him; not to mention Arundel's rough mane – such a welcome way to hide his face and retreat from the deep concern of those around him. Tactfully, Arthur turned away as soon as Gwaine was safely settled on his perch. He could hear Merlin muttering words of reassurance in his friend's ear. For once, Arthur understood the need to chatter. Maybe that was Merlin's way of coping. The thought was an interesting one that he tucked away to consider at his leisure.

Sir Percival was utterly spent. Arthur would brook no refusal when he offered the knight his own horse. "You carried Gwaine all this way. Let Hengest carry you now. The rest of us can double up – yes, you too, Elyan," he added, catching sight of that man's rueful expression. "I'll share a horse with you. I'm sure you have a story to relate that will make the journey lighter…"

"And a smell… you'll never forget," said a muffled voice from Arundel's back. Merlin held up his hands: _not me!_ Arthur gave a short laugh, startling everyone. Elyan flushed, but there was the beginning of a twinkle in his eye.

"True enough. I can promise you that," he told his king.

"Ask Arthur… about the Perilous Land," continued the reckless Gwaine. "I remember a fine tale he told me… You two have something in common."

"Yes, well, that's quite enough." Now it was Arthur's turn to flush. He tried to ignore the wide grin of his servant. Merlin had no concept of discretion. No wonder he and Gwaine were such good friends.

-x0x-

At the edge of the woods, they paused to stare at the driving rain with dismay. It bounced off the ground like a never-ending hail of arrows.

"Under siege. Suddenly these woods seem friendly," Percival grumbled.

Arthur knew he would have to rally their spirits if they were going to reach home before dawn. His sharp eyes could not fail to notice the way Gwaine was drooping lower in the saddle, despite Merlin's valiant efforts to hold on to him. Tearing off his own cloak, he passed it along. "Wrap this over him," he ordered. "Cover his head. We need to keep him as dry as possible. Don't want him catching a chill."

"You're a physician now?" Merlin teased, but though his tone was light – for Gwaine's sake, Arthur had no doubt – his face was full of concern and he nodded his thanks to the king.

"Just being practical," Arthur replied. "We're here. Gaius is in Camelot. There's no more time to waste. I for one don't intend to let a little shower of rain keep me from delivering Gwaine to the man who can help him the most. No offence, Merlin." Glancing upwards, he frowned. "Besides, I've seen quite enough of these lights for one night – wouldn't you agree, Sir Leon?"

"Wholeheartedly, my lord."

With a nod, Arthur led them from the woods. He could barely see through the rain but he knew the way as well as he knew his own mind and kept the group from straying in the darkness. They made good time back to Camelot. As they passed beneath the gateway that led to the citadel, Arthur turned to trade glances with Merlin. No words were necessary. Gwaine, like everyone else, was drenched through. He had no strength left to cling to the horse, but lolled in Merlin's arms like a dead man. _Not dead,_ thought Arthur, full of righteous anger. _We're so close._ The king leapt from his saddle and ran to Arundel, dragging Gwaine down and calling his guards at the same time. "Help me! Bear him to Gaius at once."

Relieved of his charge, Merlin lowered his head, water running down his cheeks as though Nature herself was crying on his behalf.

-x0x-

When they reached the physician's chambers, Arthur was surprised to find Gaius seated at the table with no less a person than his new court jester, sharing a drink and a tale that appeared to be humorous indeed.

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid I must disturb you," he told them solemnly, watching their good mood falter with a detached sense of pity. Gaius wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and rose to his feet in consternation as Gwaine was carried into the room. Merlin brought up the rear of the little procession, his feet stumbling in his hurry to overtake the guards and prepare the cot for his friend's arrival. Robin, meanwhile, kept a respectful distance and held his tongue, watching quietly.

The guards left and the room fell silent for the briefest of moments. Arthur could hear the _drip drip drip_ of water. There was already a puddle beneath his feet.

"What happened, sire?" said Gaius, aghast. He lifted aside the sodden layers of red cloth and fingered the makeshift bandages, also red by now.

Gwaine shifted uneasily beneath his touch. "Bad luck," the knight murmured. "Tried to make it right. Poor child." His hair was plastered to his brow and his skin was ashen.

"The patrol encountered a grave in the wood. So Sir Elyan tells it." Arthur crouched down beside the cot, speaking quietly. "A little druid girl who suffered a violent end."

"The Grave of Resa?" Truly, was there anything that Gaius did not know? As the healer pondered Arthur's words, he gestured to Merlin. "Needle. Silk thread. Fresh bandages and honey…" Merlin nodded wordlessly and did as he was told. Arthur felt uncomfortable at the sight. Such unnatural behaviour.

"You've heard of it then?"

"I have." Removing the first cloth with care, Gaius studied the wound. "This is a very clean cut. Not fatal on its own, but with the others… So much blood loss." Lifting his gaze, he gave a long deep sigh of recognition. "Which was the point, of course; I see. Bad luck indeed. There are tales, my lord, never proven till now, of a child in Bruta's time who was murdered by outlaws, and a curse that haunts the spot where her body was found. A blood curse, intended to keep the mother's grief alive by gifting it to any soul unfortunate enough to stray upon the tainted ground. Trapped in a state of endless mourning. Not a pleasant fate."

"Blood for blood." Gwaine opened his eyes. " _Blood for blood._ " He tried to sit up.

"Hold him down," cautioned Gaius. At the same time, Merlin returned with an armful of supplies and a basin of water that slopped about when Gwaine's flailing arms made contact. "He needs to be still or I cannot treat him properly. What else did Elyan tell you?"

"Only that Sir Gwaine behaved with honour. This was a selfless act, to break the spell that held them. How he came to think of it, I do not know. How he found the strength of will to carry it out, I can only imagine." Arthur's grip was firm but kind, he hoped. The knight tried to swat him with a weary hand but soon gave up the effort.

"Feather," Gwaine muttered randomly, much to everyone's surprise. "Lost the feather. Don't tell the crow…"

"Perhaps, my lord, I can be of some assistance," said a wary voice from the shadows. Robin stepped forward humbly. "I could soothe him whilst the healer works? A song or a story? It might ease his mind. Distract him, you understand?"

"I understand." Arthur answered more sharply than he had intended. Robin flinched, and the king felt guilty. "Do your best," he continued. "And thank you for your kindness."

"He has been a friend to me," the jester told them softly. Kneeling down, he set his pale hands over Arthur's own. They were cool, smooth-skinned and elegant. "Pull away," he whispered. "I have him now. You are soaked, my lord. You need to see to your own well-being."

"I'm fine," said Arthur distractedly.

"You're kneeling in a lake," offered Merlin, sounding a little more like himself at last. Arthur resisted the urge to point out the obvious: _I'm not the only one._ "Do you… need me to accompany you?" There was an unspoken plea behind the young man's question. Having pulled his hands free, as Robin suggested, Arthur rose to his feet.

"Certainly not. Stay here. Help Gaius. I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself, Merlin, as you well know." He left the comment hanging there; a tempting fruit. Sometimes, a king had to make sacrifices for the good of his people.

Sure enough, Merlin's smile began to surface. His retort was mild but the tilt of his chin was encouraging. "If you say so, Arthur…"

The king gave a nod of satisfaction and headed for the door, squelching as he went. He hovered on the threshold for a moment, reluctant to leave but having no useful part to play. The scene was almost cosy; Gaius and Merlin conferring together with lowered heads; Robin weaving some kind of long and complicated story for their patient – Arthur picked out several words that made him want to laugh: 'tavern', 'maiden', 'trouble in the air'… Perhaps there was some benefit to having a court jester after all. Robin had certainly taken Gwaine's measure quickly.

Then the jester glanced up and, for a split second, his dark eyes met Arthur's own in a naked display of emotion that was wholly unexpected. The king was rocked by the strength of it. Doubt, dismay... approval? It was a heady mix, and one that almost overwhelmed him – until Robin dropped his gaze once more and all was as it had been; safe and comfortable.

 _Did I dream it?_ Arthur's shoulders twitched and a shiver ran down the length of his back. He stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him, leaning on it, breathing quickly. The walls seemed to shrink around him as he felt the weight of all the questions he should have thought to ask from the very beginning.

 _Who_ _is_ _this man? What is he doing here, really?_

 _And have I made a grave mistake, allowing him to stay?_

-x0x-

 **A/N: I know, I know – like Arthur, you have questions too! Look out for the next chapter, coming soon, in which Merlin and Gaius have one of their oh-so-useful conversations about all things magical and mysterious...**

 **Thanks to everyone who is following this story. You keep the inspiration flowing and your comments make my day!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Nine**

" _ **The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery."  
(Anaïs Nin)**_

-x0x-

Dawn crept into the room like a wary servant, announcing itself with a blush that started in one small corner before gaining courage enough to spread outwards. Merlin rose to his feet and set about extinguishing the many candles; more abstract, curling sculptures by now than practical sources of light. He felt rumpled and wrinkled and tired beyond reason. His clothes were stiff with remembered rain, and some darker stains that he did not care to think about. Gwaine was slumbering - at least, he appeared to be asleep, twitching like a dog that dreams of running free. Merlin half-expected him to whimper. _Where are your thoughts, I wonder? Lost in one of Robin's tales? Or somewhere far less pleasant?_ He resisted the urge to shake his friend and ask him. It had been a long night, full of pain and pity. This peaceful interlude was very welcome.

In his journey around the room, Merlin tiptoed past the nook where Robin was dozing. The jester had stayed with them, soothing Gwaine with his tales of bawdy romance and high adventure. He seemed to have an inexhaustible store, and talked and sang until his voice was hoarse. Tying the last bandage with a sigh of relief, Gaius had taken one look at his white face and dismissed him before he dropped on the spot. Nevertheless, Robin had chosen to remain nearby. Perhaps his room was simply too far away. Or perhaps – Merlin chose to give him the benefit of the doubt – perhaps he really did care about this new-found friendship of his. The knight and the jester. Such an unlikely pair…

 _More unlikely than a tavern brawler and a secret sorcerer?_

"Jealousy? Really?" he scolded himself with a weary grin. He knew the strength of his bond with Gwaine. For a moment, he was back in the darkness, sharing a lonely campfire in a perilous realm.

 _You're the only friend I've got…_

 _I'm not surprised…_

The two men had smiled together at the time, of course, and things had changed a lot for Gwaine since then. Still, jokes that had the sting of truth about them were easy to make and hard to forget. Gwaine's choices in life were his own, and the mask he wore was also of his own creation. Merlin knew a thing or two about secrets and their cost. He did not truly understand why Gwaine kept his noble heritage from the other knights. He had begged him many times to confide in Arthur, at the very least, certain that his king would be delighted. Gwaine's secret, if revealed, would not bring him death or disapproval; quite the opposite, in fact. Would the revelation change him? Hard to say. Was the secret his to keep, for whatever reason?

Undoubtedly.

"Looks like you've actually managed to make _another_ friend," he teased the sleeping knight. "If you're not careful, you'll soon have too many to count on your fingers. You'll have to use your toes as well."

"Wha's that?" Gaius lifted his head. Once again, the poor man had substituted the wooden table for his pillow.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep," Merlin told his guardian gently.

"Nonsense. I wasn't sleeping. Look; morning's here."

"You've been up all night." _So have I,_ he thought, sighing with regret as he stole one tiny moment to feel sorry for himself…

 _That's enough of that, now._

"Indeed. As I have been many times before and shall be again. Arthur and his knights are far too accident prone for their own good. So are you." Stirring his limbs, Gaius tried to look well-rested. It was a humorous attempt, and fairly unsuccessful. "Don't frown at me like that. I'm not totally decrepit, Merlin. How's our patient?"

 _Looking much better than you._ Merlin clamped his lips together. "Mmm," he mumbled, pretending to study Gwaine. "Mm hm." Once he had his tongue under control, he continued. "Quiet, for once. Is that worrying, or should we both, you know… enjoy it while it lasts?"

"Oh, I think it's safe to say the latter. His bandages?"

"Clean. No sign of seepage."

"And his forehead?"

"Dry and cool at last."

"Then we have no fear of being haunted by the troublesome ghost of the late Sir Gwaine. He'll live to fight another day. And he'll have a fine set of scars to brag about."

Merlin felt a nagging sense of unease. "I don't think he'll be mentioning this down at the tavern, Gaius. In fact, I don't think we'll ever hear him talk about it."

" _He_ might not," said a voice from the doorway, "but _we_ will." Sir Leon ducked his head politely as he stepped into the room. In his hands, he carried a basket of fruit. He seemed a little embarrassed about it; his fingers worrying constantly at the weave. "From all of us," he explained, though no one had asked him. Then he shrugged. "Now I've said it, it seems like a poor exchange. As though any gift could atone for his sacrifice."

"He's not dying, Leon; there's no need to sound quite so maudlin. He'll make a full recovery. I am quite a competent physician, sometimes."

"And I'm sure he'll thank you for the fruit," Merlin cut in swiftly, interrupting the grumpy flow of sarcasm. "You know Gwaine and apples. Well, food in general, really…"

That brought a smile to Leon's face, as Merlin hoped it might. "Of course. Thank you both. Do you want…? Shall I…? That is to say, can I stay a while? I know it's early but..." He faltered for a third time. "I should leave."

"You should stay," Gaius said firmly. Sir Leon's need was perfectly obvious. "How are _you_ feeling? As I understand it from the little I've been told, poor Gwaine was not the only one who found himself in trouble yesterday. Perhaps I should look you over too? And Percival, and Elyan?"

"Ah, no," the knight said hastily. "I'm fine, Gaius, truly. We all are. Except…"

There it was; that strange hesitation again. It was unlike Sir Leon to appear so ill at ease. "Except?" Merlin prompted kindly.

Leon closed the door and stepped towards them. "Did you tell him about the lights?" he said in a low voice. "I can't stop thinking… Last night in the wood - and the night before…"

A belated sense of revelation made Merlin catch his breath. "You mean – ah, the very thing you asked me _not_ to talk about? The 'problem' you had on the way to the tavern?"

"The lights I saw then were the same. I know that now." Leon's face was pale and his eyes were wide. "They led me astray on purpose, Merlin. How is that possible?"

"Foolish fire."

Both men turned to stare at Gaius. "I beg your pardon?" Leon said politely.

"You saw lights that led you astray? Sounds like foolish fire to me. _Ignis fatuus._ You may know them as will o' the wisps."

"I'm afraid not." Leon glanced at Merlin. "You?"

Merlin shook his head mutely. _Go on,_ he nodded to Gaius.

"They're impertinent creatures. No one really knows their true form, though there are stories… Are they fire incarnate, for example, or an invisible hob with an ever-burning flame? I must admit…" His eyes gleamed. "I would love to study one, close at hand. Were there many?"

"Beyond number," Leon told him gravely. "I do not think it wise to seek them out again. They led us into trouble and we almost died." His gaze flickered momentarily to Gwaine's sleeping form.

"That may be so – but they also led us directly to you," Merlin countered, thinking it through as he spoke. "They lit our way like a shining path. I felt no malice… I mean, they were pretty," he amended, catching Gaius' warning glare.

"Yes, that's part of their charm all right," the physician explained. "They look harmless and, as you say, pretty. But should you follow them, you will doubtless find yourself stumbling into a bog, or…"

"…a pig sty." Merlin grinned, then bit his lip. _Oops._ "Sorry, Leon."

"A pig sty?" Gaius gave a deep frown. "You mean they were here? In Camelot itself? Most peculiar. Will o' the wisps are usually found in wild and lonely places; swamp land, forest trails… Perfect sites for a spot of magical deception."

"They were here," Sir Leon stated categorically. "Are they harmful, Gaius?"

"Not at all. That is to say; not as far as I'm aware. Apart from the obvious peril of leading people into… well, sticky situations."

"How do we counter their magic?"

"I'm sorry, Sir Leon. I've told you everything I know."

"There _is_ a way," said a quiet voice behind them. Robin's throat was still raw but his words were urgent. "I too have some knowledge of these wisps and their deception."

Gaius raised his eyebrows, startled, much to Merlin's amusement. _Now who's jealous?_

Leon simply looked grateful. "Tell us, please," he begged.

Robin stepped around the group, placing himself at the centre; ever the performer. "You may think my answer is… ridiculous," he warned the knight.

Once again, Merlin's mouth quirked up at the corners in spite of his sudden misgiving. What game was Robin playing here?

The jester struck a charming pose, took a deep breath and began to recite what sounded like a fragment from a longer verse:

 _Dark be path and cold be night.  
Lost thou art, without clear sight.  
Turn thy coat to set it right  
Before thou art bewildered._

 _Fire before thee, fire above thee;  
Drawn away from those who love thee…_

Letting his voice tail away, Robin caught Merlin's eye and smiled. "The rest is foolishness. Our hero does not listen to the warning he is given, as is so often the case in a tale such as this. He is filled with regret - far too late, of course, to save himself from indignity."

"That's a delicate way of saying 'a bog'," Leon muttered.

Gaius, meanwhile, was dissecting the verse. "'Turn thy coat' – yes, I see," he exclaimed. "It's a little known fact that you can keep yourself from being fairy-led by wearing your cap or your clothes inside out."

Leon's cheeks turned a startling shade of red. "That's ridic…" His hand flew up to his mouth, mid-sentence, and he bowed to Robin; a sign of acknowledgement. "As you warned me," he mumbled through his fingers.

"As I warned you," Robin said with glee. "Will you do it, Sir Knight? _Will_ you heed my warning – all of you?"

 _Oh yes,_ Merlin thought; _I can just imagine that._ The whole of Camelot, walking around with their clothes inside out. Agravaine. Guinevere. Arthur...

"Excellent advice," he told the jester. "Sounds like a plan to me. Now, will you tell the king, or shall I…?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Ten**

" _ **Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world. There is the sun dissolving the dark, and light as clear as music, filling the room where you sleep and the other rooms behind your eyes."  
(Jeanette Winterson)**_

-x0x-

Sir Gwaine had woken up in many ways and many places. He had woken up half-dead, or totally drunk, or so far beyond embarrassment that he could only shrug it off and smile. He had woken in taverns and wheat fields and prison cells. He was, in fact, the self-proclaimed king of rude awakenings. A bucket of pig slop in the face was the least of his favourites. The aroma of freshly-made porridge ranked highly.

In his broad experience of mornings-after – one day, perhaps, he _should_ range them into some kind of proper order - this was a fairly pleasant waking. To begin with, he was in bed, which was always a bonus. He was warm; the sun was golden bright beyond his eyelids; there was someone looming over him…

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily.

" _There_ you are," said Gaius. "Welcome back."

"I went away?" Gwaine mumbled, hoping to hide his confusion. Unpleasant and unwanted details starting creeping back into his memory. He shifted… and the world froze around him as his body registered a cruel kind of pain. "Sore!" he managed to croak.

"I imagine that's an understatement." Gaius shook his head. "I used up all my thread, you know."

A curious remark. Gwaine tried to make it connect with something. "Oh!" he said, at last. "I get it. What a fine bedside manner you have there, Gaius." Easy to lapse back into a learned disguise. Hide the pain, hide the anger. "Thank you, I suppose."

"You _suppose_?" Gaius heaved a sigh and patted him on the shoulder, narrowly avoiding the nearest bandage. "Such gratitude, Sir Knight. Like pearls from your lips."

"Come on, Gaius. Don't make me grovel. I'm grateful, really." As though to prove the truth of his words, he let the healer in, just a little. "You saved my life. I know that. It was… scary for a while; you understand."

Gaius rose to his feet, feigning nonchalance, and began to walk away. Then he stopped and turned. "It's good to have you back, Gwaine," he said with unexpected feeling. " _Merlin_ would miss you…"

"Merlin. Right. Thank you, Gaius," Gwaine repeated, making sure that this time there could be no doubt about the warmth behind his words.

-x0x-

"I'm sorry; _what_ did you say?" Arthur's face was a picture. Merlin waited, studying every hilarious detail so that he could store it in his head. Since he had drawn the short straw, he was determined to enjoy himself. "Let me run through it again. And do, please, inform me if I miss anything vital to our safety. So. Camelot may well be threatened by… little balls of light. They have no weapons but the power to tease us mercilessly. And our defence is to – what? Walk around the citadel like a raggedy troupe of performers, wearing our clothes _inside out_?"

"That's about the sum of it," Merlin said pleasantly, waving Arthur's shirt in a meaningful manner. "Want me to…?"

" _No!_ " snapped the half-dressed king. "No, of course not. Robin is a jester, Merlin. This is a _jest._ You do know what that means?" He paused. "Or are you even more gullible than I supposed you to be?"

 _Our hero does not listen to the warning he is given…_

Merlin shook his head, dislodging the echo of Robin's fateful words. "What happened to the knights… What we saw last night. You don't think _that_ was a jest, do you? Sir Gwaine would surely disagree. Look, I don't like it either but these lights… they could be trouble, Arthur. Sire," he added quickly. Why did he always forget that part? "You have to trust me."

"I have to do no such…" Arthur's indignant remark stumbled to a sudden halt. He pursed his lips and frowned. "The other night."

"In the woods?"

"In the _castle._ I thought I saw… Could it be? A distant light that led me to…"

"A pig sty?" Merlin offered, full of sympathy and secret hope.

"The armoury, idiot," Arthur corrected him. "It was rather unsettling, actually."

 _Tell that to Leon,_ his servant refrained from suggesting. "So you'll do it?" He gestured to his own thin jacket. "I am. Gaius too. And Sir Leon; he leapt at the solution – though he looked a little puzzled as to how he was meant to wear armour that way." A practical conundrum, and one that had occupied the four men for quite some time as they discussed the various alternatives. Personally, Merlin couldn't wait to see how Percival would manage. Did the man even _own_ a shirt? Could you turn chain mail inside out?

"I'll do it," Arthur replied slowly, in a tone that implied he could not quite believe what he was saying.

-x0x-

"Gaius?" called Gwaine, as he reclined on the cot, munching through his second – no wait, his _third_ apple. Near-death experiences always left him feeling hungry. Good of the boys to remember that. "Did you get dressed in the dark this morning?"

"How so?" The physician's tone was careless but Gwaine could spot the twinkle in his eye.

 _Oh, so that's how you want to play it._ "No reason. When can I get out of here?"

"Well, let's see now. Can you stand?"

Gwaine snorted. "What kind of question is that? Of course I can."

"Show me." Folding his arms, Gaius waited – and watched, with a half-smile twisting his face.

 _Let me guess,_ Gwaine thought grimly. _Pride comes before a fall?_ He felt a serious sense of misgiving, but something – very well, his pride, no doubt – would not let him surrender. Besides, he could not bear to stay here all day; not with his thoughts running wild and so little else to occupy him.

He swung his legs around and pushed upwards…

…only to find himself on the floor in a painful heap. "Ohhh…" he groaned. His head was spinning and his limbs felt horribly weak. The ache in his arm was to be expected. His failure was not. "Let me try that again."

"You can try that all day long," the physician advised him. "Until I see you walking in a straight line it's quite certain you will not be going anywhere."

 _So you say,_ the knight decided stubbornly, preparing his body for a second attempt and wondering, as he did so, whether or not that was the cunning old man's intention all along.

-x0x-

"I humbly beg your pardon, my lord," said Agravaine. "I am not accustomed to acting upon the advice of a fairy tale. No offence," he added pleasantly, turning to Robin. The jester stood beside Merlin and Sir Leon. All three were observing the scene with some interest.

"None taken," Robin replied with equal sweetness in his tone. Merlin stifled a chuckle, composing his features into an attitude of respect that Lord Agravaine did not deserve. The respect was for Arthur; a hero who had chosen to take that fairy tale's advice in spite of his own misgivings.

"If you want the opinion of an old war horse like me," Agravaine continued with sickening modesty, "I say we ride to the wood and take care of these creatures before they cause any more trouble."

Arthur placed his hands upon the table that divided them, and leaned forward. "Take care of them how, uncle?"

"Oh, you know: a couple of well-placed arrows ought to do the trick. Or a bucket of water. I'm sure you can leave the details to your knights… this time." Agravaine's air was dismissive. Sir Leon bristled at the inference. Merlin laid a cautionary hand upon his arm.

"A bucket of water? I'm not sure that all the wells of Camelot could quench the fire of so many creatures. Lord Agravaine, forgive me: I think you misjudge the size of the problem we are dealing with."

"To be sure." Agravaine held up his hands in a sign of peace. "But perhaps… _you_ misjudge the truth of a story well-told by a skilful performer. Again, no offence."

Robin bowed his head silently.

"We could…" Merlin faltered, waiting for permission. When Arthur gave it willingly, he continued. "We could put that story to the test."

"What are you talking about?" Leon whispered. Arthur, on the other hand, was delighted.

"Yes!" he cried. "This very night. Robin, since you are the expert, perhaps you would be willing to accompany us?"

"And I," said Lord Agravaine. "I am keen to see this deadly peril, and the bold revenge you plan to take upon it."

 _Someone,_ Merlin thought, _please throw a goblet at his head._

But no one did – though, for a moment, he could almost swear that Robin's supple fingers twitched.

-x0x-

 **A/N: This has been a lovely weekend! Two chapters written and posted! Hope you enjoyed the updates. This one made me giggle all day long as I was writing it.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing – more soon!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Eleven**

" _ **He who knows he is a fool is not the biggest fool; he who knows he is confused is not in the worst confusion."  
(Zhuangzi)**_

-x0x-

The rain had lessened somewhat during the afternoon, blown asunder by a wicked wind that snapped at the heels of nobles, knights and horses alike when they came together in the courtyard. Merlin watched with great amusement as Arthur and his men tried to keep their mounts steady. It was a wary kind of dance, with much to-ing and fro-ing. His own horse waited patiently, behaving like an angel for once and looking fairly smug about it. Seated behind him on the saddle, Robin chuckled. "Nature knows no titles," muttered the jester, for Merlin's ears only, just as one particularly daring gust lifted Arthur's cloak clean into the air and wrapped it neatly around his royal head.

 _One… two… three…_

"Mrr-lnnn!" came the muffled cry.

Sir Percival, who was closer, gave a broad grin and hastened to Arthur's aid, leaving Merlin free to share the wonderful moment with Sir Gwaine, who was leaning out of a window looking rather gloomy. The wounded knight had managed to escape his sickbed but Gaius had threatened all kinds of dire and imaginative consequences should he dare to leave the castle. Gwaine was a reckless man – but even he was not _that_ reckless.

Agravaine followed Merlin's gaze with a thinly disguised look of satisfaction on his face.

"Such a pleasant fellow, taking delight in another man's pain and distress," Robin observed. "There is joy to be had in mischief, but surely a brave act is deserving of respect."

Merlin shrugged, choosing his words carefully in case the wind snatched them out of his mouth on a whim and bore them to Agravaine's ears. "He's the king's uncle."

"Meaning you don't like him either."

"It's not my place to say," Merlin hinted. _Not in earshot, anyway._

"I understand; forgive me." Wisely, Robin changed the subject. "How bright the moon looks tonight. Charmed she must be, by the sight of such oddly-dressed heroes." There was a lyrical sway to his observation that made Merlin smile and turn around.

"Do you always talk in riddles and poems?"

Robin chuckled.

"' _Tis a terrible habit of mine -  
When I come to the end of a line,  
Out pops another,  
Its eloquent brother,  
By accident, not by design."_

"Very funny," Merlin told him archly. Robin bowed his head in mock-acceptance, just as Arthur, rescued from his plight and keen to recover his dignity, raised his hand to call for silence. Only the whispering wind disobeyed him.

"This may seem to be a humorous quest," he told the assembled riders. "To set out, dressed as we are, in search of lights that may mislead us. Yet, once again, the safety of our kingdom is under threat from sorcery. Danger comes in many guises. It can be ugly or beautiful, strange or familiar. This we have learned to our cost through hardship and sorrow." He paused, and his face was solemn in the moonlight, shadows increasing the slant of his cheekbones. "Take nothing for granted tonight. Stick together, and watch out for one another. Our courage and our friendship is the bond that will bring us safely home again." He raised his eyes and nodded in tribute to Sir Gwaine, who stepped away from the window in an unexpected display of reticence.

"Excellent speech," Robin murmured. "Stirring. I feel quite knightly and brave."

Merlin said nothing. He found himself strangely moved by Arthur's words. The clotpole was becoming a worthy king. All the trials they had faced together had served to hone his character and teach him many important truths about life. Only one truth was still hidden from him; that which caused Merlin the greatest sorrow of all. Magic could be beautiful too - _truly_ beautiful when freed from the darkness of hatred and desire. _I will never stop yearning to show you,_ he told his king silently.

Robin laid a hand upon his shoulder as the company began to leave. "Shall we ride?"

"We shall," was Merlin's fierce reply, and he urged his willing beast to join the line. The echoing sounds of their departure spiralled up around their ears, turning six bold horses into sixty. Looking back, the last thing Merlin saw was the wistful shadow of Gwaine at his lonely bedroom window, thrown into sharp relief by the candle that flickered behind him…

-x0x-

"I know you're there." Gwaine turned around as he spoke. Some kind of rogue instinct had warned him of a presence in the room. He half-suspected Gaius, come to see if the patient was keeping to his curfew – or Guinevere, perhaps, on an errand of mercy, armed with food and a friendly smile.

What he saw made his heart hammer in his chest and his legs grow shamefully weak beneath him. He clutched at the wall for support and drew himself up, with his chin in the air.

The tiny light winked at him cheerfully.

"You!" Gwaine's voice was accusing. "How dare you come here? Haven't you and your fellow creatures caused me enough distress? We're not friends. You can't follow me everywhere."

The light grew dim, and dipped a little closer to the ground.

"Now you're trying to make _me_ feel guilty?" There were beads of sweat upon Gwaine's brow; a token of the effort he was putting into staying on his feet. _If Gaius could see me, he'd have something to say,_ the knight sighed. He felt dizzy and sick, drained of strength, and slightly ridiculous. "Go away," he grumbled. "Leave me alone. I'm wearing my shirt inside out, can't you see? There's nothing more you can do to me. I'm not going to follow you. I'm going to bed."

The light rose up to the ceiling and hovered there, watching him.

"No. Don't you dare. You're not _staying_ here." Dragging off his boot with some difficulty, Gwaine lobbed it in the general direction of his pesky foe. The move was a foolish one. Waves of pain stabbed through his arm, making him catch his breath so sharply that he lost all sense of balance. Aiming for the bed, he missed entirely. From his new position on the floor, he stared up – and there was the light, right above him, pulsing with concern.

"Go 'way, you fiend," he told it hopelessly, right before he blacked out altogether.

-x0x-

Few people were abroad in the lower town. Bad weather had driven most of them indoors. Light flickered through the cracks in many a shuttered window. Merlin, freezing cold already, felt a little jealous of the folk so warm and snug inside.

"Sire," cried Elyan. "Look!"

As one, they wheeled their horses around and stared in shock. At first glance, it almost seemed as though the merchant quarter was bathed in fire. Merlin blinked and focused more carefully.

 _Emrys,_ cried a thousand tiny voices, full of glee. The wisps were high above them, resting on rooftops and circling with the tempestuous air.

"They're here," he gasped. "Arthur, they're right here in Camelot!"

"I see them, Merlin," Arthur told him sternly. "Try not to state the obvious."

"My lord…" Agravaine was horrorstruck; his tone aghast. He stared down at his clothing. Not a stitch was inside-out and now he saw the error of his proud assumption. "I must apologise. So many…"

Robin spoke out clearly above the wind. "They won't hurt us. They're creatures of mischief, not malice. This is a test, my lord king; you must remember that."

"I _must_?" Arthur turned and stared at the jester. His face was unreadable.

"Heed my words. Act with conscience and care. Your people – look to your people. Keep them safe from misadventure. _Trust_ me, Arthur," Robin begged him. "I know the legend speaks truly. Your subjects need the same protection you now enjoy. Spread the word."

"You forget yourself, jester," Arthur said but there was a gleam in his eye. "Fortunately, I agree with you. My people come first. There is no higher duty for a king and his knights. We shall warn them."

"All of them?" Agravaine gasped. "I only mean – so many to warn, and so few of us here? How to manage it, my lord?" His recovery was swift, but Merlin wasn't fooled by his earnest manner. Agravaine was afraid, and longed for a nice little bolthole; somewhere warm and cosy with a good supply of food and drink, no doubt.

"A ripple of water can spread from a single drop," Leon offered quietly.

Merlin had always admired the man's clear-sighted wisdom in a crisis. "That's right," he agreed, picking up the point and racing onwards. "Just like a rumour. All we have to do is start it! Somewhere busy like…"

"The tavern?" Arthur finished for him. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You shouldn't doubt me," Merlin grumbled under his breath. "It's the perfect place," he added in a louder voice.

"Your servant makes an interesting point," said Agravaine. "I could undertake this duty. If you wish it?"

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "Very well," he agreed. "Take Robin with you. He may need to spin his tale for the patrons of the Rising Sun. They can be… awkward sometimes, or so I've heard. Merlin will accompany you both. He knows the way - _don't_ you, Merlin? Sir Leon, ride back to the citadel with Sir Elyan. Rouse the rest of the knights. We need their numbers too. Explain the situation thoroughly, mind. Sir Percival and I will patrol the lower town. There may be people in need – lured into a pig sty, for instance. You can join us when you return."

"Thank you, my lord," said Leon stiffly. Out of respect for the blushing knight, Merlin tried to conceal his mirth. Behind him, Robin giggled openly.

"Am I missing something?" Agravaine enquired.

"Not at all, uncle," Arthur replied with perfect innocence.

"I see. Then we should be on our way. Come a _long_ , Merlin."

Trailing in Agravaine's wake, Merlin sighed. He would have preferred to remain with Arthur, or with Leon and Elyan at the very least. Still, it might be entertaining to watch the king's uncle try and persuade a group of drunken townsfolk that they ought to turn their clothing inside out. _Very_ entertaining, come to think of it… Feeling heartened, Merlin began to whistle. Robin caught the tune with no trouble at all, and hummed along.

"Stop that," Agravaine said sharply. Looking over their shoulders, he blanched. A small contingent of wisps had broken away from the mass and was following their progress with undeniable interest. "Quickly!" the lord demanded, spurring his horse to greater speed with a vicious dig of his heels.

" _I_ am not afraid to say it. I do not like that man," Robin hissed, surprising Merlin with his anger. "Maybe someone should teach him a lesson..."

-x0x-

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been following and reviewing this story! More soon...**


	12. Chapter 12

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twelve**

" _ **They sell courage of a sort in the taverns."  
(Ellis Peters)**_

-x0x-

For the second time that day, Gwaine awoke to find a very familiar face looming over him. "Gaius," he said, with a clumsy nod, as though they had met quite by chance in the corridor, say, or the town.

"Sir Gwaine," the physician replied with equal gravity. "Something I can do for you?"

"Not at all. Right as rain. I'm just lying here, you see, because…"

"The floor of your chamber is so very comfortable?"

Groaning, the knight struggled into a sitting position. "Good for my… _ow_ … back," he lied, wincing sharply when his aching body protested against the obvious falsehood.

"Clearly. Would you like me to help you up?"

Gwaine considered his options. They were limited. "Yes, please," he said meekly, giving in. Few people in this world could make him do their bidding and get away with it. Gaius was not only one of them, he was the master. "What are you doing here, any… hey, you're stronger than you look!" he told the old man, who had already hooked one arm around his shoulder, scooped him up, and was neatly depositing him on the bed.

"I assume that's the closest I'll get to a compliment." Gaius swung Gwaine's legs around. "Better?"

"Much," said the grateful knight, leaning back against the pillows. He almost folded his arms behind his head, but stopped himself just in time. Passing out _again_ would be so much more than embarrassing. "Lucky you came by to check on me."

"I didn't 'come by'. I was summoned."

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Gwaine's stomach, like a lump of undigested cheese. "By whom?" he said airily.

"By what, I think you mean." Gaius turned and gestured to the little light, which had found itself a cosy nook between a cupboard and the wall.

 _Wonderful,_ sighed the knight. _It's making itself at home now._ "I'm surprised you chose to follow it, given recent circumstances."

"I did so _precisely_ because I was free to choose. Besides, there was something rather urgent in its manner."

"It's a light," Gwaine protested, "not a hound playing 'fetch'."

"As you say – yet I made the right decision." Gaius narrowed his eyes and studied Gwaine's face intently. "You've overdone it already. Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Be warned, however – if I find you on the floor again, I shall confine you to your quarters for a month." He held up a stern finger. "You can test my resolve if you wish, Sir Gwaine, but I wouldn't advise it. I'm a stubborn old goat. Just ask Merlin if you don't believe me."

"Oh, I believe you. And I wouldn't dream of disobeying." Gwaine was a master as well, in his own particular field of expertise. He summoned up the smile of an angel.

"Hmph," the physician retorted, thoroughly unconvinced.

-x0x-

A wave of heat and noise swallowed Agravaine the moment he stepped through the doorway of the Rising Sun. Meanwhile, Merlin hesitated. He had seen the pensive look on Robin's face, and thought he knew its meaning.

"You were here; of course," he realised, smacking his forehead in a comical gesture of dismay. "When the knights found you. I'm sorry – would you rather wait for us?"

"Not at all. I shall bear it with you by my side, I have no doubt. Your kindness is a rare gift, Merlin." The halo of wisps floating over his head made Robin appear quite unearthly.

"Not here in Camelot. Lord Agravaine… well, he's the exception, not the rule."

"He's a snake," the jester proclaimed, with feeling. "He hides his double-tongue behind his fine white teeth."

It was a compelling image; one that was bound to stick in his mind – rather like the memory of a prince with donkey's ears. Merlin grinned, linking arms with Robin and dragging him into the tavern before the jester could change his mind and flee. Once inside, though, he halted and struck a familiar dramatic pose.

" _Out of the wind and into the crowd.  
I'll have an ale if I'm allowed."_

"Was that… a poem?" Robin chuckled. His cheeks were already brighter and the gleam in his eye was wicked. Far from alarming him, the bustling atmosphere almost seemed to be lending him vigour.

Merlin shrugged. "Thought I'd give it a go. Pretty good, don't you think?"

"Well, it rhymed…" said the jester thoughtfully.

"Ha ha." Merlin scanned the room for Agravaine. The tavern was full tonight, with a raucous crowd that gave no quarter when it came to moving around freely. At last, he spotted the noble lord near the bar. "Looks like he needs a little courage for his task," Merlin observed to Robin.

"False courage. Quickly drawn and quickly swallowed." The jester raised his eyebrows. "It does not linger."

"Unless you drink the tavern dry…" Which did seem to be Agravaine's plan. Already, he had downed his first ale, slamming the tankard on the bar and picking up a second. Merlin took a deep breath and started to force his way through the crowd, pulling Robin with him. Why were there so many large men in the Rising Sun tonight? Really, _really_ large? _Should have brought Percival…_ "Excuse me," he said politely, as he bounced from belly to belly. "So sorry. Was that your toe? My apologies…" It was a great relief when they stumbled out of the melee, fetching up in front of Agravaine.

"You took your time," the noble said with a fine display of carelessness.

Merlin could feel Robin bristle and cast him a warning glance, but the jester took no notice. "Time that you put to good use, it appears."

Agravaine flinched with surprise and glared at him as if to say: _How dare you?_ "Not that my tactics are a fool's concern, but I happen to be blending in. Assessing the mood of the room before I make my move. It's a classic approach."

The mood of the room was indifference, so far. Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that this was about to change but even he was startled by what happened next.

"I understand perfectly," Robin declared. "Let me help you, Lord Agravaine." He brought his fingers to his lips and uttered a piercing whistle. Conversations faltered as a multitude of heads swivelled in their direction. One woman gave a nervous cackle. Several other people hushed her prudently.

To be the absolute centre of attention should have been overwhelming but Robin simply bowed and gave way to Agravaine. "I believe the room is ready now. My _lord_." A subtle twist of inflection turned the necessary title into a veiled insult. _You are no lord of mine,_ his manner suggested. Merlin was transfixed by the boldness of this strange man. No more words were necessary; every little twitch of Robin's face was a clue to his contempt and the eager, drunken crowd responded. Agravaine had no friends here in the lower town, and there was a dangerous kind of anonymity to be had in the midst of so many people. As the king's uncle stepped forward, taking Robin's place, a low rumble of dissatisfaction greeted him.

"This could go badly," Merlin whispered. A shiver ran down his back.

"Or it could go very well indeed," was the jester's sly response. "It's all a matter of perspective, really."

Forced into action, Agravaine held up his hands in a soothing gesture but his face was troubled. It didn't help that there was a trickle of ale running down from the corner of his mouth. He felt it and wiped it away, but the damage was done.

"Can't hold his drink," sneered an ugly voice. "Look – it's spillin' out of him."

 _This isn't what we came for,_ Merlin thought urgently. Once again, he longed for the steady presence of Percival, or even Gwaine, with his charm and his rowdy fighting skills. _I'm alone,_ he realised. _I know everyone here, but there's no one I can trust._ Nor could he use his magic with Lord Agravaine beside him. He was going to have to be so very careful…

Agravaine assumed a charming smile; one that usually worked to his advantage when he was surrounded by his peers. "My friends," he uttered smoothly.

"Aye, that's right," quipped another mysterious voice.

Frowning, the lord tried again. His mask of sincerity was slipping badly. "Good people of Camelot. Patronss of the Rising Ssssun…"

"Sit yourself down, man. You're drunk!" cried a young woman.

"Shame!" was the general opinion, rippling through the crowd in a wave of disapproval.

Agravaine flushed. "Sssstop that!" He clamped a hand to his mouth, but not before Merlin saw, to his absolute horror, the end of a forked tongue that flickered between the man's lips. And he knew; he _knew_ that Robin had done this thing – this terrible, wicked, hilarious, awful thing.

The jester's head was lowered but his cheeks were pink and his smirk was the proof that Merlin sought; the answer to the riddle.

Robin had magic.

Of course he did.

"Undo it," Merlin hissed, behind Agravaine's back. "Please!"

The jester raised his dark eyes and opened them wide. There was fire in the depths, yet he smiled at Merlin, unrepentant. "Why should I?" he whispered.

Agravaine was frantic by now. He kept his hand firmly in place as he tried to force a path to freedom, uttering sibilant curses through his fingers. His gaze was wild and terrified.

"We're not here to shame him. We're here to warn the people."

"I know that," Robin said mildly. "No reason why we should not have a little fun along the way. Trust me, Merlin. I know what I'm doing."

 _Yes,_ Merlin thought. _That's exactly what I'm afraid of._

Reaching out tentatively with his own magic, he felt around the spell that had twisted Agravaine's tongue, but the walls were impenetrable. With a lurch of fear, he began to grasp the extent of the jester's power.

" _There_ you are, my friend," Robin murmured with a hint of satisfaction. _Emrys…_

Merlin froze. As he did so, the crowd gave a reckless cheer. Agravaine had fled the tavern altogether, staggering into the dark night, all alone and with no protection against the wisps that waited beyond the door. Merlin almost felt sorry for him – would have done, in fact, were there not far more urgent things to worry about.

Robin leapt up onto a nearby table and grinned at the sea of faces below him. Truly, he thrived on the energy of other people's rapt attention. "Well now," he said, and a hush filled the room as his warm voice cast its mesmerising spell. "Was that not indeed a treat? And may I humbly offer you another one? A story, dear friends, that will both entertain and astonish you?" He gave the tavern keeper a meaningful nod. "Ale for all, sir, in the name of good King Arthur. He wishes you to be merry this night, and _I_ wish to tell you a tale the like of which you have never encountered. Magic and loyalty, danger and sacrifice. A tale of four brave knights – _your_ knights - and their most recent adventure right here in the kingdom of Camelot!"

Merlin gave a groan of disbelief. "Gwaine's going to kill you if Agravaine doesn't," he warned.

"I think not," the jester replied, with a carefree snap of his fingers. Turning back to his audience, who were passing flagons of ale from hand to hand by now, he took a storyteller's steadying breath and began to weave his wondrous tale. The candles flickered in the sconces, wrapping them all in a warm cocoon of light and magic. Merlin fought against it, but even he was drawn in by the jester's words as the story unfolded, every image crystal clear in his mind and every emotion his own, or so it seemed to his enraptured senses.

" _Áscéadan_ ," he murmured. To his great relief, an invisible wall sprang up between his thoughts and the jester's cunning influence. Now he was free to observe, and think rationally.

Now he could act – but how?

-x0x-

 **A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all the lovely guest reviewers who have commented on this story so far. I can't reply in person, but I wanted you to know how much I enjoy your reviews!**

 **More soon!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

" _ **Every self-respecting act of persuasion must find appeal to curiosity, then to vanity, and lastly to kindness or remorse."  
(Carlos Ruiz Zafón.)**_

-x0x-

"It's a shame you sent Merlin with Agravaine," Sir Percival said with a nonchalant air. "I could really do with some conversation right now."

"What?" Arthur turned his head. "What are you talking about?"

Percival offered up a grin that guaranteed forgiveness. "Merlin rambles on. You've been riding in silence. No one is out here to rescue and I'm bored of wind and rain for company."

"Don't forget our little glowing friends." Arthur stared at the shimmering rooftops. Raindrops pattered on his upturned cheeks and he brushed them away; a pointless reflex. He was soaking wet again – they both were. Apparently, some perverse magical law dictated that a cloak, when turned inside out for protection against the wisps, became utterly useless at fending off bad weather. Illogical but true. No doubt Gaius would have a theory on the subject. "I'm surprised you feel ignored with _them_ around. Sorry, by the way," he added. "I was thinking, that's all. If you're pining for Merlin's idiotic conversation… Well, you must be truly desperate."

"Actually, I was just wondering…" Percival narrowed his gaze. "Do you know where we are?"

Lost again? Surely not! Arthur examined the houses around them.

"Ah," he said sheepishly. This time, it wasn't the lights that had led him astray. Hengest knew the way to Guinevere's door far too well and, bereft of his master's guidance, had simply made his own assumption. Nor was he wrong. Arthur's thoughts _had_ been tending in that direction. "Yes, of course I do. Here at last. Thank you, Percival."

Tactfully, the tall knight held his tongue. One raised eyebrow hinted at the humorous remark he chose to swallow.

Arthur laughed anyway as he dropped down from his horse and secured his sword. "Oh, very well; I admit it. You're right. But now we appear to be here, I should make sure that no harm has come to her."

"Indeed, sire." Percival stayed where he was. "And for that, you don't need my assistance."

"Certainly not. Just wait there and… erm, watch out for dangerous fairies."

Percival's warm chuckle followed Arthur as he stepped up to Guinevere's door and knocked politely.

The door swung open on its well-oiled hinges.

Inside the humble dwelling, long grey shadows had made themselves at home but the mistress seemed to be absent. Arthur stepped inside. Guinevere had left the citadel quite some time ago; he knew that, for he was the one who had warned her to be vigilant. "I can take care of myself," she had responded, pressing a gentle finger to his lips. Arthur wanted to believe her – knew that he should do, in fact, since she was so very capable. And yet…

"Would you say that my knights are without skill? Gwaine or your brother could tell you the danger is real, Guinevere. Maybe Elyan…"

Reading his mind like a witch – or a woman in love – she had declined his unspoken offer. "No, Arthur. I don't need an escort to my own house." Now he wished with all his heart that he had pressed her further, as he stared at the half-prepared meal on the table, and the cloak on a nearby peg.

"Not here, then?" With a fine disregard for their previous agreement, Percival had followed him in, clearly sensing trouble.

"Your powers of observation are astounding," Arthur grumbled, peering into every nook and cranny, just in case. Several wisps bobbed through the doorway, intrigued by his behaviour. Percival watched him too, making helpful comments.

"I don't think Gwen would be under the bed… Or in that basket… Arthur, she's out; that's all. There's no need to worry."

" _I'm_ not worried. _Why_ should I worry?" The king's voice rose in pitch as he gestured at the lights, causing them to spin away quickly – a sign of their guilt, he decided.

"We'll find her," Percival insisted with easy good humour, reminding Arthur that there was more than one obvious reason why he chose to keep the giant knight around. Physical prowess was not the only kind of strength, and Percival's unassuming, steady presence was surprisingly effective at calming not just Gwaine, his reckless friend, but the king himself when Arthur felt… frustrated.

"Right. You're right. Thank you, Percival." He drew his sword, feeling strangely uncomfortable to be doing such a thing in Guinevere's precious sanctuary. "Well, you did say you were bored…"

"And I'm sorry for that," the knight murmured quietly, as they stepped out into the rain once more.

Arthur nodded, half in earnest, half in jest. "Apology accepted."

-x0x-

Merlin's mind was free of Robin's smothering influence, but he was still confused. The more he listened to the enticing narrative that the jester was weaving for the patrons of the Rising Sun, the more problems he encountered. Robin's attention to detail was thorough, to say the least, and extremely believable – yet how had he acquired such knowledge? Not from Gwaine; that much was certain. The wounded knight had been unusually tight-lipped about his experience, causing everyone to speculate instead, which they did with great enthusiasm. Elyan, too, was embarrassed by what had occurred, and gave only the briefest account to anyone who questioned him. As for Leon and Percival, they had seen little beyond the will o' the wisps and a lot of tangled undergrowth. The jester's source could not have been the knights. There were only so many blanks that could be filled by supposition and creative storytelling. Robin's tale was… perfect. A watchful crow. A stubborn hero. The ever-present lights…

Those lights. An image presented itself to Merlin: Robin with a halo of wisps about his head.

Could it be?

Was the jester in league with the creatures after all?

Robin turned to glance at Merlin and his dark eyes were full of excitement. "Now," he told the breathless crowd, "you may suppose that my story has reached its end. The knight and his fellows are safe once again – but the borders between this, the real world, and the realm of myth and legend are much weaker than you think. The danger is close, and Camelot needs to be watchful. You do not have to wield a sword to be a hero. All you need is the courage to do what is right, no matter how strange it seems, and the kindness to help your neighbour. Stand together and you shall prevail."

With a flash of gold beneath his lashes and an airy wave, he released his hold on the unwitting crowd, much to Merlin's surprise. Surely now was the time for Robin to press his advantage? He had them all in the palm of his hand and they did not even realise it. There was nothing he could not compel them to do. Had his magic merely been a way to bind them to his tale and make them listen?

Robin bent and stretched out his long white fingers, beckoning Merlin onto the table and hoisting him up with ease. "Choice in this matter is a freedom your king grants to all," the jester stated, his clear voice holding its own against their incoherent muttering. "I will not force them," he added in a whisper that was meant for Merlin only. "Help me?"

Time slowed down as Merlin fought a secret battle in his mind; one side – his common sense – vowing he should stand firm against Robin; the other – his instinct – assuring him there was no danger here.

Robin waited patiently, his dark gaze fixed upon Merlin. At their feet, meanwhile, the sea of faces stirred and the rumble grew louder.

"My friend is right," Merlin cried out suddenly, as instinct stole a march on common sense and claimed its victory. _I may regret this,_ he thought to himself, _but somehow I doubt it._ "You have a choice to make. I've made it already, and so has King Arthur." He gestured to his strange appearance. "Turn your clothing inside out and the wisps will bother you no more. It's true; we've felt it."

A ripple of laughter spread out through the room, like a flame growing brighter. The mood shifted once again; from confusion and discomfort to hilarity.

" _If you doubt our sage advice,  
You will do so at a price.  
Turn your coat before you find  
The fire has made you lose your mind."_

Robin's words were earnest. One or two people paused, uncertainly, and reached up to pluck at their clothing. Merlin nodded, encouraging them. "That's it! Trust us – you don't want to find yourself lost and alone, with no notion of how you got there. Ask Gwaine if you don't believe me…"

"Gwaine's a fool," the tavern keeper scowled.

"Gwaine's a hero. Weren't you listening to the story? Every word of it was true. Ask Leon, then, or Elyan. Or Arthur! The wisps aren't picky. They don't care who they lead astray. A king or an innkeeper; it's all the same to them…" Merlin frowned at the man. "Turn your shirt around. You know me, John. I wouldn't lie to you."

The burly man held Merlin's gaze for a long time, as the wheels in his brain moved slowly. Merlin held his breath and waited. So did everyone else. At last, John gave a reluctant nod. Untying his apron, he lifted his shirt clean over his head and turned it inside out. "Go on, then," he exhorted his customers, angrily. "If I've to make a proper fool o' myself, you can all do the same – or there'll be no more ale for the lot of you."

That did the trick. With frantic haste, the patrons of the Rising Sun obeyed. Shirts flapped in mid-air and coats spun around. Caps were punched through and shawls were twisted back to front. Several moments later, there was not one single outfit left unaltered. Merlin pressed his lips together and tried not to laugh out loud.

"Thank you, good master John," Robin said to the tavern keeper, bowing in gratitude.

"Mmph," said the red-faced man. "And how long do we stay like this?"

"Watch the skies," the jester told him. "Warn your neighbours." With the fluid grace of a leaping deer, he sprang from the table. Merlin stumbled after him. "All of you – spread the word, for that is your mission, my brave, reluctant heroes!"

"Don't you think you might be overdoing it a little?" Merlin grumbled as they headed for the door.

"Never in my lifetime," Robin answered with a solemn air. He paused – and a charming smile broke out across his face, like sunlight through the clouds. "You wish to talk. Yes?"

"Oh, yes," Merlin told him emphatically.

"Good. Follow me," said the jester, dancing out into the night.


	14. Chapter 14

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

" _ **Questions can be more dangerous than swords."  
(Evangeline Walton)**_

-x0x-

The cold rain trickling down his neck was just the aggravating detail Merlin needed to keep his focus clear. He followed Robin past poor Arundel, who huffed in disgust at being ignored. The jester darted down a blind alley, turning momentarily to ensure that Merlin was still at his heels; the hunted leading the hunter in a glorious game of chase. Though the weather was atrocious, Robin's step was light and his bearing one of joyful anticipation.

"How can you be so cheerful?" Merlin grumbled, following him into the alley with more than a hint of nervousness. "It's filthy out here. I feel as though I've been wet for ever."

Robin halted in the tiny space where three walls met and water cascaded downwards like a rebellious mountain spring bursting free of its earthly boundaries. He seemed almost surprised by the comment. "Then dry yourself," he told Merlin simply. Waving his hand above his head and outwards, he turned the course of the tumbling rain, bending it into a perfect dome. The air within was damp but clear. Merlin took a deep breath and stepped through the rippling wall to join him.

"That's a fancy trick," he muttered, by way of a grudging 'thank you'.

Robin bowed, and the water that ran from his hair kept on running until his whole body was dry. "A stirring accolade."

"You do know magic is forbidden in Camelot, don't you? Surely that detail must have come up? I mean, in all those tales you like so much…"

"I know it," Robin said with gravity.

Merlin sighed and gestured to the shivering dome that encircled them. "Arthur's around somewhere. If he should see this…"

The jester laid a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "People see what they expect to see. In a rainfall, only falling rain…"

"I wish…" Merlin paused and dragged his stormy thoughts together, forming them into one coherent sentence. "I do wish you would stop speaking in riddles and tell me the truth."

For the first time since they had met – was it only days ago? – Robin seemed truly offended. "I do not lie." His eyes flashed, not with magic but with indignation. "Every word that I have spoken is the truth, you foolish child."

Now it was Merlin's turn to frown. "I may be foolish sometimes but I'm no child, thank you very much. I'm sorry I misspoke. I didn't mean to upset you. I only meant…"

"You want answers; I know. As it happens, so do I." Robin's changeable mood was so difficult to master, darting here and there like the wind that dithered above their heads, or the tiny lights that, even now, had tracked them down and whirled above them, splashing through the dome. "Then we should play a game."

"Um… we should?" Merlin ventured uncertainly.

Robin held out his hands, both palms facing Merlin, in an attempt to placate him. "Nothing sinister. Merely a round of questions, back and forth; the mildest game of all. You may begin, if you wish. I will answer truly if I can, or not at all. I will _not_ lie; I promise thee. I only ask that you show me the self-same courtesy;

" _And in our answers, we may surely find  
A common purpose  
That will bind us  
Heart and mind  
As Fate approaches…"_

"Stop!" cried Merlin. "That's what I'm talking about. No more poems, please. Can't you just speak plainly? You want me to ask the first question; very well, then. Why are you here?"

"I am here to save Camelot." Robin stood tall. Though his head was level with Merlin's own, he rose above him, prouder than a king for one brief moment. Then, with a rueful grin, he let out a deep breath and shrank to his usual size. "Though I cannot do so alone, for I am no hero like Arthur or his worthy knights." Merlin opened his mouth, but Robin held up a wary finger. "Our game, you recall? The turn is mine now." Fixing his gaze upon Merlin, he paused, unable to resist the lure of the storyteller's agonising interval. "I wish to know of… the Veil," he said at last.

So many possible questions – and _that_ was Robin's first choice?

"Big subject," Merlin said cautiously. "Can you be a bit more specific? I mean, there have got to be a _lot_ of veils in Camelot."

"Do not try to best me." Robin smiled. "You are no trickster, Emrys. You know the Veil of which I speak, just as I do. Better, I believe. In _plain_ words, I wish you to tell me of Arthur's quest to heal the wound between the worlds. I would like to hear the truth behind the tale, not some gaudy fabrication."

Merlin's throat was tight as he replied. Even now the memories were dreadful and he strove to hold them at a distance. "It's not a tale _or_ a fabrication. It's just…. something that happened. Something bad. Morgana…"

"The Fay," Robin nodded. "Though she is not one of my kind; not at all." His open smile became a shrewd one, as Merlin caught the slip – if slip it truly was. "Nor is it time for your second question, Emrys, though I think I know what it must be. Please, continue with your 'something bad'. I shall endeavour to refrain from interrupting."

 _I wish you wouldn't._ Merlin bit his lip. Released by his own mind, the past came creeping back to him like smoke, and as it grew close it enveloped him. "Morgana and her sister captured Camelot, but could not hold it in the end. Arthur took back the kingdom and rescued Uther. We helped a little…" He shrugged. The joke was a poor one, and ill-timed. "When it finally came, her revenge was terrifying. She's a priestess of the Old Religion now, and she knows the rituals. On the night of Samhain, when the Veil between the worlds is at its weakest, she travelled to the Isle of the Blessed and tore it completely, summoning the Cailleach… and releasing the Dorocha. They were…" Merlin could not find the words. His very soul was aching and he closed his eyes to hide away from Robin's piercing gaze.

"Do not speak of them if it is painful," said the jester softly. "I know something of these creatures. They would stagger any man to silence."

"They almost silenced me forever," Merlin gasped, clenching and unclenching his hands with the force of his emotion. _Move on. Do it quickly._ "Arthur… he had a plan. One soul to open the Veil. One soul to close it…"

" _His_ soul," Robin whispered. It was not a question.

"His soul," Merlin echoed, opening his eyes at last. The jester's face was full of dismay – and naked curiosity. "I couldn't let him do that, Robin. Arthur's fate… it's my responsibility. He's so ridiculously noble-hearted, sometimes. Keeping him alive is quite exhausting." Once again, the joke fell flat but Merlin stumbled onwards. " _I_ was going to… well, you know. But the Cailleach refused me… and in the meantime, Lancelot… He had given Gwen his word, you see. Even though he wasn't born to privilege, my friend had the bravest and most noble heart of all." There were tears running down Merlin's cheeks by now. He left them there in tribute. "Lancelot saved us both. He saved everyone. He was the hero that day. Does that answer your _question_?" Bitterness crept into his tone; unworthy and unstoppable.

Robin nodded. "It does. And I'm sorry, dear Emrys. There is courage in your words and in _your_ heart, for those who care to see it. You may ask me anything and I will answer. You have earned it. You have earned it _all_."

A curious comment. In his raw state, Merlin tried to think clearly. "You are of the Sidhe," he said at last, and that _was_ a question.

"Not I," said the jester with a hint of smugness. "Though my world is also their world, and my father… Oh, but that is a different story. I am _pwca_ ; I am Hob. I am the devil to some and a helpmeet to those that please me. I am the child of a king, and no child at all. Does that answer _your_ question?" he continued dryly.

"Yes and no," Merlin groaned. "Just tell me your name – your true name. You know mine, after all."

"And names are power. Fortunate am I, then, to possess so many. Robin _is_ my true name, Emrys. Robin Goodfellow, also known as Puck." He paused for a reaction. When none was forthcoming, he looked a little disappointed. "You have not heard of me, then?"

Merlin tried to placate him. "Maybe Gaius…?"

"Ah yes, the healer who knows so much and yet reveals so little of his own deft skill."

"Wait – you know Gaius has magic?"

"Of course. I can taste the lingering scent of it, like the perfume of a rain-wet flower. But that was another question, Emrys, and now I have two to my credit." He rubbed his fingers together but Merlin forestalled him at once with a shake of his head.

"Oh no, you don't. We're done with this game. I don't owe you any more answers. You need to tell me what you're doing here, and I mean _really_ tell me, Robin – or Puck, or whatever your name is."

"Why then, Grettir did not see aright, for here stand Magic, Strength and Courage all in one. Emrys, you are more than I had hoped for in my wildest dreams."

"Which I'm sure are pretty wild," Merlin muttered, brushing aside the compliment.

"Indeed they are." Robin gave a sigh of fond remembrance. Merlin folded his arms and glared at the jester meaningfully. "Oh, very well. Such a hard-hearted fellow you are."

"And you have no sense of urgency. I thought you were here to save Camelot? Since you don't _lie_ , I assume that's the truth? There's some kind of threat?" Merlin's tone was sarcastic. "Details would be helpful. In your own time, of course, Master _Good_ fellow…"

Robin waved his hand above his head, reversing the spell that protected them both. The dome grew thin around them, melting into separate drops that turned into a shower, then a torrent.

"Hey!" cried Merlin. "We're not done yet!" Water filled his mouth and he blew it outwards in a violent spray.

"Truly," the jester agreed. "Such inclement weather, is it not?"

"Yes, of course. It's wintertime. But we're not here to talk about the weather…" Merlin faltered. Robin's eyebrows were raised in a meaningful way. "Are we?"

The jester spread his hands apart, inviting the rain to soak him thoroughly, almost as though he welcomed it. "Consequences, Emrys. Like a pathway, separating every time we choose a new direction. One road leads to another. One stone dropped into the water sends ripples circling outward, as your wise Sir Leon chose to see it. Trust that my people see farther."

"And what _have_ they seen?" Merlin asked him, fearful of the answer.

Taking a moment to think, Robin framed his explanation in the simplest terms. "Little spells make little waves. But a tear in the very fabric of the world? That, my friend, is offensive to Nature. Violence begets violence; is it not so? A storm was born that day, far across the world; small and vicious, a kernel of hate. We have watched it grow for some time, twisting in its anger as it swells with every breath of air that feeds it. Now it has come to the shores of your land, fully grown and furious. Heartless desire for the kingdom of Camelot caused its creation. This mighty storm is now _your_ consequence."

"But Morgana…"

"Precisely." Robin's face was pensive. "Here you see the argument between my lord and I. The Sidhe care not for Camelot and its destruction. I am… of a different opinion. I have a weakness, you see, when it comes to mortals. Though mischief is meat to me, kindness and courage… they give me hope. I wished to see if the tales were true before I chose to help you."

"Help us… fight the weather?"

"Help you turn back a storm so mighty it could shake your glorious citadel to pieces in an instant. Do not discount Nature's power."

"I don't," said Merlin with heartfelt honesty. "What are you going to do?"

"Why, nothing at all." Robin tilted his head. "The plan is mine indeed, and I will share the details, but the execution? My sweet lord has forbidden me to act and I can only dance around the edge of his commandment. _You,_ Emrys. You are the sorcerer; I am the fool. My magic is persuasion and deceit. Yours is passion and bravery. _You_ are the one who must do this."

-x0x-

 **A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Some of your questions should now be answered but I'm sure you still have more and the tale is far from over, as you can probably tell...**

 **I have received some truly lovely reviews lately. I can't thank you all enough. Though this story has turned out to be an absolute dream to write, I still worry about each and every update and your kind words give me confidence!**

 **This chapter is dedicated to 1917farmgirl for her amazing support and encouragement - and because she liked it!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

" _ **Strong people don't put others down… They lift them up."  
(Michael P. Watson)**_

-x0x-

It seemed that Lord Agravaine had carried out his mission with an admirable degree of success. As Arthur stepped out of Guinevere's house, he was startled to find that the street was no longer empty of people. They stood here and there in the pouring rain, not exclaiming but hushed and fearful as they gazed up at the golden lights. The king was relieved to see that every one of them had turned their clothing inside out. Rumours did indeed spread like wildfire – as had the wisps themselves.

"There's more of them now, don't you think?" Percival's cool observation chimed with his own thoughts in a manner that was quite uncanny.

"Either that or they're all following _us_ for a change." Arthur nodded politely to a nearby couple; Guinevere's elderly neighbours. He had met them once before, in an unguarded moment that he blushed to recall, even now. Apparently, knocking was something they did not do too often in the lower town. Husband and wife stared back, open-mouthed, and then bobbed their heads with delayed respect.

"Pardon, your majesty," Old Jem muttered. "We was warned… I feared as how you might be one of them there allusions, sent to trick us."

Beatrice was pulling on her husband's sleeve. "Addle-pated fool," she hissed. "He's come to see _her_ , like he always does."

Arthur did not need to turn around - he could feel Percival grinning beside him. The sensation was something akin to an itch between his shoulder blades. He shifted uncomfortably.

More people drew near, attracted by the sound of voices and the sight of his gleaming sword, which reflected the dazzling light from the rooftops. _Not now,_ Arthur thought irritably, but he hid his frustration and stood tall before them, recognising that their need for reassurance was just as strong as his own. Personal feelings would have to take second place. He was the king, after all, and this king had a conscience.

"Thanks for the ale, your majesty," called out one joker, breaking the solemn mood and drawing several cries of assent.

Arthur frowned. Since Gwaine was still recuperating in the citadel, he sensed Merlin's influence somewhere behind this strange remark. A question to put to him later… "You're very welcome," the king bluffed, as smoothly as he could.

"Are we under attack?" begged a nervous young woman.

"There's no danger," Arthur reassured her, hoping that his words were true.

"Ask _him_ ," one man suggested, sidling closer and nodding to Percival. "He was there, so I heard, in the woods."

"And here I stand, unharmed." Percival faced the growing crowd. His calm manner was contagious. Arthur watched with interest, not used to seeing the knight take centre stage in anything less than a fight. "The danger did not come from the wisps. The danger was an ancient curse, and it was defeated."

"Gwaine." The name was tossed up and carried along the street by many voices. "Gwaine…"

"Just how much did my uncle tell them?" Arthur muttered with some consternation.

"How much did he know?" countered Percival, sighing.

Arthur took a deep breath, raising one hand for silence as he faced his people. They were dear to him, even though they annoyed him sometimes. The thought made him smile, and the smile gave his words conviction – or so he hoped.

"Consider these creatures our 'guests'," he offered. "You wear your clothes inside out for protection, I see, just as we do. The wisps cannot lead us astray, or cause mischief, if we do not let them. Treat them as harmless, and I believe they will not harm _us_ in return _._ " The cunning twist of words gave him great satisfaction. _I can be eloquent too,_ he thought. Perhaps there was much he could learn from the jester. Merlin would not have to help him write his speeches any more…

Percival nudged him as the townsfolk began to drift away. No doubt the lights were far more appealing to look at than a rain-soaked king and his dripping knight-at-arms. "Nicely done."

"Nicely done? Is that all you've got to say?" Arthur paused to consider. "I'll take it. And you, Percival? I've never heard you give a speech like that before."

"Hidden talents?" the knight suggested, happy to lapse back into the understated manner that was his natural style.

Arthur shrugged. He had a different theory. "Either that, or Robin's rubbing off on every one of us. If I start spouting poetry and sentimental clap-trap in front of the whole court," he added, "feel free to take out my crossbow and shoot me."

"Noted," said Percival solemnly.

-x0x-

Gwaine was more than bored by now; he was horribly, brutally out of his mind with a deep, frustrating need to do _anything_ other than lie on his lumpy bed and stare at the cobwebs that graced his ceiling.

The light hovered next to him, pulsing with sympathy. Or was that some evil, wispy glow of satisfaction?

"Pest," he said. "I'm getting out of here. Don't you go blabbing to Gaius, now, you devil. When he threatens, brave men shudder. Even kings obey him."

The wisp bobbed obligingly. Was he crazy or did it seem eager to be active, just like him?

Could it actually tell what he was saying?

With care, he swung his legs around and pushed himself onto his feet. The woozy feeling in his head subsided after a moment or two, and the floor stopped rolling about like a lake in winter. "Better," he proclaimed. "C'mon, let's go for a walk. I'm keeping you with me - that way I'll know what you're up to." Raising one eyebrow, he gave a cautious grin. "Or we can find enough trouble to share…"

Perhaps the rest had done him good. Perhaps his strength really was returning. At any rate, boredom turned out to be an excellent physician's assistant, driving him onwards by sheer force of will. "Pest, I've been giving the matter some thought," he told his little co-conspirator, as he shuffled along the corridor, bouncing off the wall when he felt the need of some support. "I think Gaius was bluffing. He told me I had to stay put – but I know he knows me much better than that. He _told_ me what to do so I wouldn't _do_ it. What do you think?" He paused, and stared at the light with a sense of foreboding. "Yes, I know. I heard it too. I'm rambling, aren't I? Makes a certain kind of sense, though, right? Or maybe not…" He sighed, and paused to rest his legs. The stone wall bore his weight with steadfast sympathy. "I'm tired," Gwaine admitted. "This was a bad idea."

Round the corner, like an angry black cloud, Lord Agravaine came steaming. He held his hand before his face, and peered through his fingers, as though trusting them to shield him. His clothes were wet and his cloak was turned inside out with careless haste, half-choking him. There was mud on his boots and straw in his hair. His skin was pasty and his breathing heavy.

He did _not_ look pleased to see Gwaine – but the light made him freeze altogether.

"Let me passs," he hissed.

Gwaine pushed outwards from the wall and regained his poise with an effort. "Pardon me, my lord," he said. "You seem to be in some distress. May I be of assistance?" He knew full well how much the king's uncle despised him. The feeling was mutual, of course. Agravaine embodied every prejudice the young knight had; every deep-seated hurt that had driven him – until he met a prince who made him reconsider. Arthur's attitude inspired loyalty and hope. Agravaine, though… What was he doing here, anyway? Arthur had been training all his life to be a king. Why, then, would he seek advice from such a man? Except, of course, that Agravaine was family, his mother's kin and so, like a good soul should, Arthur trusted him.

"No, you may not. Leave me be."

"Is there trouble in town? Does the king need help?" Gwaine was determined to be polite. He was proud of his own worth, such as it was. He would not stoop to this man's level.

"From you?" Agravaine kept his hand before his mouth, for some strange reason, but the sneer was evident in his tone.

"Who better?" said Gwaine with quiet dignity.

"Why, anyone, of courssse," the lord replied, stumbling over his words as though his tongue had grown too clumsy to manage them.

"You're entitled to your opinion, I suppose." Gwaine's self-control was a tenuous thing. He tightened his hold with an effort. "Are you injured, my lord? You seem… unlike yourself."

And, for the first time since Gwaine had met Lord Agravaine (and hated him), the noble manner slipped and the shifting soul beneath was there for anyone to see. "I… am," he said, uncertainly. "At least… it's nothing. Should _you_ not be ressting? Your ordeal has been a dreadful one." And he shot the little wisp a look of fear, which only served to make it burn more brightly.

This new Agravaine was even more alarming. Gwaine didn't know how to handle him. "Perhaps… a drink," he ventured, falling back upon a tried and tested solution.

"Yesss!" The dark eyes brightened. "That would be mosst welcome. Though I have, in fact, had one or two already…" Gwaine was not surprised by his confession. Quite aside from the tell-tale slurring of his words, the smell of the tavern was rising from Agravaine's clothing, mingled with damp and a certain hint of something… goat-like. "But… sssomewhere quiet?"

Gwaine's eyes grew wide, and much that was strange became sense, as he finally caught sight of the flickering tongue that darted through Agravaine's fingers. "Oh! I mean… yes. If you wish." There was quite a story here, the perfect cure for boredom. Besides, in his heart of hearts, he could not help but pity the man whose plight was both funny and terrible. "I know a back way down to the storeroom," he suggested, praying that his quivering legs would bear him that far. He couldn't afford to falter. This was just too good to be missed. "Come on, Pest. Not you, my lord," he added, enjoying the look of dismay on Agravaine's face as the wisp proceeded to follow them down through the dark ways of the castle.

-x0x

 **A/N: Dear old Gwaine. He does have a habit of stealing his way into chapters that don't concern him. Which I hope you will all appreciate, since it's bound to make the story longer (and more entertaining, hopefully).**

 **Thank you to those who set my mind at rest concerning the last chapter – I was worried about the details I revealed, and it was such a relief (and a pleasure) to read your reactions!**

 **If you're feeling in the mood for something a little darker, I also posted a couple of short stories over the weekend. Blame the muse, who (I think) has been hanging out with Gwaine and hijacked me from all sensible occupations…**

 **More soon!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

" _ **She is a smile in the dark."  
(Richard L. Ratliff)**_

-x0x-

"Welcome to paradise," Gwaine declared, opening the storeroom door with a flourish that his aching arm did not condone. "Ouch," he added ruefully, then laughed out loud, much to Agravaine's surprise, revelling in the absurdity of the moment.

"Paradise is a dark room full of pickled eggsss and cider? You really do have low expectationsss, don't you?"

Gwaine wagged his finger. "That's funny. You're funny, my lord."

The look on Agravaine's face was a strong denial of the premise. "So we're sstealing now."

"Of course not. We live here, don't we? In the citadel? Which makes these our supplies and – correct me if I'm wrong, since a fine man like you will know the law – it's not really possible to steal from yourself. We're enjoying the fruits of our current lifestyle."

"Sstealing," Agravaine muttered. Still, when Gwaine ushered him into the room, he did not protest further. "No doubt you come here often."

"It's my favourite hiding place," the knight boasted. Then he faltered. "Oh. Well, not any more, I suppose."

"Don't worry; your ssecret is ssafe with me. Fair exchange is no _robbery_." Agravaine's tone was sly.

"Very decent of you." Gwaine nodded, countering the man's less-than-subtle dig with one of his own. "Needless to say, I won't mention your… well, _you_ know… either." He was about to grab a candle from a nearby alcove when Pest flew by him into the room, glowing brightly. "Ah," he said. "Useful, that. Thank you, Pest."

"Why on earth do you let that thing follow you?" Agravaine said with disgust.

"Don't think I have much of a choice. It seems to have taken a liking to me. No accounting for taste, right?" Gwaine closed the door behind them and took a good look around. "Pickled eggs, you said."

"I'd rather have the ssssider," grumbled his reluctant companion.

"As would I. Good choice." With telling accuracy, Gwaine made straight for the darkest recess and a low stone shelf full of stoppered jugs. "One each?"

Agravaine seemed to have resigned himself to the situation. "Yesss," he murmured helplessly. "I rather think I will."

-x0x-

Merlin's mind was full of clamouring questions eager to be heard. His mouth hung open – _like a codfish,_ he thought randomly, recalling Arthur's insult – but all that issued from it was a helpless squeak. Too much information was an overwhelming thing.

"Should I give you time to think about it?" Robin asked him sagely.

"No. No, it's fine… I just…" Whatever Merlin was about to say remained a mystery to both of them, as the clattering of hooves announced the presence of Sir Leon and Sir Elyan. The two knights rode past; then paused; then retreated, staring at the servant and the jester with some interest.

"Strange place to find you," Elyan observed. "I thought you'd still be in the tavern."

"Ha ha. Very funny. No, we…" Once again, Merlin floundered, leaving Robin to conjure up the perfect explanation as to why they were standing outside in the rain. In an alleyway.

"We were looking for Lord Agravaine," the jester said. "He left the tavern… somewhat unexpectedly. Merlin here was worried. As was I," he added, just a beat too late to be believable.

Sir Leon tilted his head. "Then your search is at an end. I saw Lord Agravaine myself, not long ago, riding back to the citadel at full speed, as though the very devil was behind him. He offered no explanation for his haste. Can _you_ explain it?"

"Doubtful, good Sir Knight. A lofty fellow such as he would never confide in a servant and a prattling fool."

"You do yourself a disservice, Robin," Leon told him gravely. "But, since he cannot do so presently, let me thank you both for your vigilance."

Robin bowed.

"Merlin," Elyan said, "are you quite well?"

"Oh, yes, quite." Rearranging his features into what he hoped was a cheerful and not-at-all-mind-blown expression, Merlin offered the knights a broad grin. "Better find Arthur, then, I suppose." What he _really_ wanted to do was steer Robin, or Puck, or Whatever His Name Was into another quiet corner and beg him to finish his story. _You must be the one to do this._ Such an ominous remark. Do what? Hold back a _storm_ , for goodness sake? A hate-filled storm, born of evil and malice, intent on destroying them all? _Oh yes, of course; not a problem. I'll just plough through my books and find the right spell, and… I don't know, ask it nicely to leave us alone?_

Leon broke into his scrambled thoughts. "If it's Arthur you seek," he said politely, "look no further. He's over there…"

"Very good," Merlin nodded, feeling the night slip away from him. " _Very_ good…" More people. Wonderful.

"You're worried," Robin breathed in his ear. "Trust me."

"Trust the man who tricked Lord Agravaine in the middle of a crowded tavern?" hissed Merlin in return.

"Not a man. But a trick, yes; and one that will not linger. After midnight, Lord Aggravation will be himself again – more's the pity." Robin smiled. "Trust your instinct, _Merlin_. We will keep your kingdom standing. Arthur need not fear."

"He _won't_ fear. Because we can't explain this, Robin." Stepping out of the alleyway, Merlin gazed through the rain at his royal master, who was riding towards them with Percival by his side. "Sorcery is forbidden, remember?" he whispered, taking care that no one else could hear them. "So how exactly _are_ we meant to warn him? You know, without an execution looming over both our heads?"

-x0x

"My tongue… is magic," Agravaine exclaimed with wonder, peering into the cider jar as though he could not fathom why the golden liquid was no more.

"So I'd noticed." Gwaine hugged his own jar of cider companionably, taking random sips but choosing to keep a cool head for a change. He didn't want to forget one single detail of this night. Pest, meanwhile, was making a thorough inspection of the cheeses. Perhaps he liked their pungent smell.

"What? Oh!" The sozzled lord let out a giggle. "No, I mean, it _tastes_."

"Isn't that what tongues are meant to do?"

"Not like thisss," Agravaine sighed with pleasure. "Everything is so much… _more_. I wish you could feel it, my friend."

 _My friend?_ Gwaine shuddered. "I'm good, thanks. I'll take your word for it, if you don't mind."

"Magic." Agravaine repeated the word a few more times, rolling it around with interest. "Mag-ic. _Mag_ ic. You know," he continued suddenly, "there's a sorcerer in Camelot."

"I'd sort of worked that out, yes. He must have been in the tavern tonight." _Brave fellow,_ Gwaine added silently, toasting the unknown hero with another small sip of his cider.

" _Not_ just tonight. Before. His name…" Agravaine's eyes narrowed. "His name is Emrysss. My lady told me. Have you heard of him?" he asked, with drunken curiosity, sidling closer to Gwaine in a confidential manner, much to the knight's dismay.

"Emrys? 'Fraid not. Wait - you have a lady?" Throughout the long year that Agravaine had been in Camelot, Gwaine had never seen him be anything more than fleetingly lecherous with a woman.

"I do," sighed Agravaine. "Her sssmile… It's like a ssspell…"

"Been there," said Gwaine with feeling.

"She lovesss me not, I fear. But I… To my eternal shame, I would do anything for her. Hope inssspires me. Without her, all is dark dessspair."

A romantic. Lord Agravaine. Would wonders never cease? "That's very nice," Gwaine told him, moving carefully out of the range of his breath and the odour that rose from his clothing. "What's her name?"

"Desstiny," the poor man said, closing his eyes and smiling blissfully.

"I knew a girl by that name," Gwaine nodded. "Red hair. Green eyes. Fierce like a roaring fire when she was angry, as I found out to my cost..." He groaned, and took another sip. "To Destiny."

"To Desstiny," Agravaine echoed. Draining the last dregs from the jug, he kept his head back, hoping for more, until gravity and alcoholic fumes combined to bring him down. Luckily, they were both sitting on the floor, so he did not have far to fall, but landed in a heap like a great black raven with its feathers all askew. The jug rolled away from his grasp, but he did not stir. Gwaine waited patiently. Sure enough, a gentle snore escaped Agravaine's lips, along with the flickering tongue, which tasted the air and then vanished again. So strange. This Emrys must be quite the joker…

Startled by a sudden flash of insight, Gwaine froze.

"Pest," he said. "Tell me I'm mad."

The wisp left the shelf and the cheeses, bobbing obligingly.

"Emrys," Gwaine murmured, and he could have sworn it glowed a little brighter. "Could it be…?" Strange indeed, and yet, at the same time, blindingly obvious. "Robin is Emrys? A sorcerer?"

The wisp moved closer until it was level with his eyes. _Emrys,_ said a tiny non-voice in his head.

Gwaine clambered to his feet. He knew his own rash character, and he knew how quickly he could leap to the wrong conclusions. This, however… This made a curious kind of sense.

Robin was a sorcerer.

Robin was out there with Merlin and Arthur.

"Time to go," Gwaine told the wisp. "Things to do. Friends to save from a magical fate."

As he left the room, hobbling stiffly, he turned in the doorway and stared at the sleeping lord. Agravaine had pulled his arms and knees in, like an infant. He looked happy and peaceful; falsely innocent in slumber. Gwaine's stare was thoughtful and the smile that followed was extremely wicked.

"Wait there," he said to Pest, and ducked back into the room.

Ten minutes later, he emerged and quietly closed the door behind him…

-x0x-

For a magic-hating man surrounded by magical lights, Arthur seemed remarkably calm – until he spoke and Merlin realised that he was distracted by something far more compelling than foolish fire.

"Ah, Merlin. Stop dawdling and get over here. Have you seen her?"

"Seen who?" Merlin queried, even though he had a fair idea. "You sent me to the tavern, remember?"

"A lapse of judgement on my part, obviously. Your wits seem even more scattered than usual. Have you seen _Guinevere_?"

"Oh, right – I see. I mean, no."

Arthur shook his head in mock-despair. "You know, Merlin, I really should have made _you_ my court jester as I promised. No offence, Robin."

"None taken," was the mild reply, with just a hint of amusement hiding behind the seemly manner. _You're enjoying this,_ Merlin thought shrewdly.

Sir Leon cleared his throat. "Sire," he prompted, tilting his head towards a narrow street that joined their own directly opposite the tavern. Everyone turned to follow his gaze – all except Merlin, who caught sight of Arthur's expression and smiled at last.

The king was a different person when he looked at Guinevere.

"Thank goodness," Arthur murmured, and his features glowed with the brightness of his relief. Guinevere was glowing too, in the light of a hundred wisps that danced around her. Far from fearing them, she almost seemed to welcome their company. They were beautiful, after all, but it was not their beauty that held the king in a spell. It was Gwen's smile, as Merlin could very well see for himself.

" _There_ you are," the king continued, raising his voice as she drew near.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?" _All of you,_ she added, by way of the puzzlement in her expression.

"Looking for you," he accused her gently.

"Me? But I'm fine. I was just taking a bite of supper to my friend Elsie. She's sick… Oh! I see. You thought…" She gave him a look that said: _really?_ Merlin could tell that it also meant _thank you._ Gesturing to her dress, she continued. "Inside out, as you commanded. I'm not in a ditch, or a shed, or a sty. I'm perfectly fine, as I told you I would be."

"Then please allow us – and by us, I mean _me_ ," Arthur stated, giving the rest of them a meaningful, keep-your-distance glare, "to escort you back home just this once." He jumped down from his horse with a grace that Merlin envied, and held out his hand to his lady. Sir Leon was the first to blush and wheel his own horse away. The rest of the company followed his lead, falling back a little. Percival took Hengest's reins. Meanwhile, Robin and Merlin were the last to take the hint.

"As it should be," Robin said under his breath, with deep satisfaction.

"I agree with you," Merlin replied. Grinning merrily, he watched the couple take the short, muddy walk to Guinevere's house as though they were walking together forever beneath a starry sky.


	17. Chapter 17

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

" ** _Who are you?"  
"No one of consequence."  
"I must know."  
"Get used to disappointment."  
(William Goldman)_** _ **  
**_

-x0x-

Gwaine made it all the way to the stables before his strength gave out entirely, a setback that filled him with frustration and a deep, irrational sense of shame. He clung to the wooden framework of an empty stall with his one good arm, quite unable to make himself move in any sensible direction. Down was the only other option, and it beckoned to him. Despite his moderation with the cider – something he was quite proud of – his head was spinning and he ached all over. _I warned you,_ said a grumpy voice in his head – because even Imaginary Gaius, it appeared, had the power to make him feel like a naughty child.

"Don't you fetch him," he warned the wisp. "Don't you _dare_. I've got this. I just need a moment."

With a jiggle that Gwaine suspected was a sign of great amusement, Pest darted away. "Traitor!" the knight called after him, to no avail. "Wish _I_ could fly," he muttered as he sank to his knees with secret relief. The straw beneath him was sweet-smelling and prickly, a two-pronged assault on his overwrought senses. The chestnut mare in the stall next door swung her nose around and snorted in sympathy. Which was all very well, but a strong arm and a shoulder to lean on were actually what he needed, even though he could not bring himself to admit it. He burned to be of use again; to ride out into the rain and set everything right somehow with a wave of his sword and a bold display of courage. Being sick was not his style; more like one of those inevitable consequences that always followed his rash deeds.

"Oh, it's you," said a dry voice.

Gwaine looked up and groaned with dismay. Speaking of consequences… A familiar figure stepped into the stall, followed closely by Pest, who was glowing smugly. Not Gaius this time – but suddenly the absent physician was the least of Gwaine's worries. How had the little wisp known? This was bad. Very bad.

"You and I need a serious talk about boundaries later," Gwaine warned the creature, before turning to his would-be rescuer. "Hallo, Bree." Flashing her a wobbly smile, he tried for nonchalance and failed completely. Red hair. Green eyes. A fiery temperament. The stable master's daughter folded her arms and studied him with a pity that held no kindness. She was dressed in her nightgown – inside out, of course – and a warm woollen shawl. Her curls were… Gwaine swallowed. Loose and long, and wild like her own vibrant personality.

"Remember my name, then, do you? Not had a blow to the head, or some kind of brain fever? Three months, Gwaine. Neither hide nor hair I've seen of you. I thought you were a knight. I thought knights were supposed to be _noble_."

That stung, just as Bree intended. She knew him, like his own conscience.

 _Good job I'm kneeling already,_ Gwaine thought. "I can explain," he said hopefully.

"I'm sure you can – but I don't want to hear it. You're three months too late. Just tell me what you want and we can get this over with."

"I should have thought that was obvious." He tried to keep the petulance out of his tone. The reason he had left Bree was… complicated. In his own mind, he had thought that he was saving her from a miserable future. She deserved so much better than a knight who faced death on a regular basis and spent half of his life on patrols or crazy missions to restore the balance of the world. She deserved a man who would always be there for her. _Maybe I should have explained things a little more carefully,_ Gwaine thought with regret. Instead, he had wrenched himself away from their budding relationship – _like a coward,_ he realised now – giving Bree no say in the matter and no chance to offer her own point of view (which she would have done quite forcibly, he knew). Seeing her around would have been painful for both of them so he chose to avoid her completely. "I'm a fool," he sighed.

"You'll hear no argument from me," she countered. "So then, what foolish thing have you done this evening, _Sir_ Gwaine?"

"How much time do you have?" he quipped, trying to be charming.

Bree frowned and tapped her booted foot in the straw. "For you? Very little. Tell me or I'll leave you stranded on your knees. Your persistent little friend can fetch another of your old flames to help you out."

"No others," Gwaine said quietly. "Only you."

That made her pause – but, as always, timing was his enemy. With a clatter of hooves, Arundel cantered into the stable yard, bearing Merlin with Robin behind him. Both men were soaking wet but cheerful. Suddenly, Gwaine felt even more ridiculous, if such a thing were possible. So much for his daring rescue and his half-baked theory. Merlin was fine. No doubt Arthur was fine as well. _Should have gone back to bed,_ he thought gloomily. If an impromptu drinking session with Lord Agravaine was the high point of his day (a sad confession), the low point was doomed to be a situation just like this.

On the other hand, there _was_ the small matter of 'Emrys' to investigate.

"I would be extremely grateful," he said to Bree as politely as he knew how; "if you could help me stand. That's all I ask. My legs refuse to know me."

"Can't imagine why," Bree retorted – but to Gwaine's great relief, she conceded with a tiny frown and stepped forwards to lend a hand, just as Merlin and the jester also noticed his plight and jumped down from Arundel's back.

"What are you doing here?" Merlin said, horrified. "Gaius is going to kill you! I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Gwaine replied with feeling as the servant and the stable master's daughter dragged him back onto his feet and held him steady. How to explain, with Robin standing right in front of him? If the jester truly was a sorcerer, Gwaine would have to be far more cunning to catch him out. If Robin was a brightly coloured bird, Gwaine would be the cat that stalked him.

"Nothing changes," Bree muttered, shaking her head at the state of him.

"No indeed," said Robin, though his tone gave the words a very different implication. Bree stared at him in surprise. Clearly, this was her first encounter with the new court jester. "Foolishness and bravery are close companions. Both take risks, and that is the trait that binds them."

"I'd rather be a fool than a villain," Gwaine said thoughtfully, earning himself a strange look from Merlin.

"On that, we both agree." Robin's smile was enigmatic. Gwaine countered with a fleeting grin of his own, feeling his self-control slip as the weariness bled through his brain.

"Gwaine, you're exhausted," Merlin warned him urgently. "We need to get you back to bed." He appealed to Bree, over the knight's head. "Will you help me? Please?"

"Help _you_? Of course, Merlin."

Gwaine gave a plaintive sigh. "Why is everybody so annoyed with me?"

"Because they know you?" Merlin suggested. That raised the laugh it was seeking.

"Fair point." The knight shuffled forwards, trying to support himself. Bree and Merlin hovered behind him, hands outstretched to catch him should he fall again. Robin stayed by his side; a bewildering presence in a motley suit. "Tell me," Gwaine said, playing it straight with a simple question. "Who are you?"

"Your friend, of course, my dear foolish knight," was the calm reply. Robin sounded so honest. Gwaine badly wanted to believe him.

"I met Agravaine," he continued, watching the jester's face. This time, however, it was Merlin who reacted.

"You did? Was he… well?"

"About as well as you'd expect." Gwaine kept his gaze upon Robin. The man was cool, no doubt about it. There was not a flicker in his eyes; no sign of guilt or triumph. _Maybe I'm wrong after all,_ thought the knight. The hope was fleeting. 'Wrong' was a state that he lived in most of the time, but Gwaine always knew, deep down in his gut, when his instinct hit the mark. Robin had magic. He would stake his life upon it. _Hope I don't have to..._

"Doubtless he will feel himself again by morning. Alcohol." Robin shook his head with a feigned air of tragedy. "The cause of much confusion."

"As Gwaine knows very well," Bree said lightly.

"You are also his friend, then?" The jester chuckled. "Such mockery comes from a place of deep feeling."

Gwaine pricked his ears up with interest. Although Bree was behind him, he could picture the look on her face. Her lips would be pressed together, her eyes would be flashing and that expressive line between her brows would be severe. A battle of wits was due. _And I'm keeping out of it._

"How would you know?" Bree demanded.

"Why, I am the king of jests. Making sport of others is my occupation. I know the difference between dislike and disappointment, for example, or between hatred and a broken heart."

"Robin – let it go. Now isn't the time," Merlin whispered, ever Gwaine's staunch defender.

 _Even when I don't deserve it._

"I don't hate him," Bree said testily.

Robin bowed. "My point exactly."

 _And I didn't mean to break your heart,_ Gwaine confessed in silence. Some things were so very difficult to say out loud. He turned and held Bree's gaze for a moment, before she looked away, slightly flustered.

"Can you manage from here?" she asked Merlin abruptly. They had reached the courtyard by now, and the steps were looming. "You've got _him_ to help you, after all. The king of jests, that is. Maybe you can teach him the difference between interference and sympathy."

"I can manage," Merlin sighed. "Thank you."

"Pleasure," Bree ground out, and whirled on her heel. Moments later, she was gone.

"Sorry about that." Gwaine felt guilty, and the weight began to drag him down again. Merlin slipped beneath his good arm and bore him up sturdily.

"You don't need to talk about it. Unless, you know, you want to…?"

"I have much advice to offer on the melancholy subject of love gone awry," the jester added.

"No thanks," Gwaine retorted. Robin's startled reaction was yet another jab at his guilt-ridden heart. He was tired of feeling so suspicious. Time to end this day. In the morning, perhaps, he would see things clearly. "No more melancholy. No more questions. No more _talking._ I need sleep."

"As you wish," Robin nodded.

Merlin simply held his tongue for once and helped his friend climb up the steps without another word – an action which spoke volumes to the grateful, weary knight.

-x0x-

They deposited Gwaine back in his rumpled bed, to be watched over by the wisp that seemed strangely attached to him.

Merlin closed the door and turned to Robin. "I think he suspects something."

"Is that such a perilous state of affairs? The knight is your ally, Emrys. Did you never once consider sharing your secret? Do you not trust him? He is, at heart, a man of honour; I can tell."

"He is. And I should. The thing is… Lancelot knew, for the longest time. It was… a relief, at first. But had he _not_ known – I sometimes wonder – would he still be here today?"

"And would the world have come to an end in darkness and despair?" Robin intoned with deep solemnity.

Merlin was hurt. "You're mocking _me_ now?"

"Not at all. We cannot hope to unravel the tangled string of 'what if' and 'why'," said the jester far more kindly. "Wiser folk than you or I have tried and failed. The past, like the future, is a riddle."

"Oh good – because I don't have enough of _those_ in my life," sighed Merlin, his humour returning. It was hard to stay angry at Robin for long.

"Precisely. You should tell Gwaine your true name. Secrets like yours are hard to bear. If you break them apart and share them with those who love you, they grow lighter."

 _Or you lose the trust of your friends altogether._ He could not bear to think about the fact that Gwaine might come to hate him for an accident of birth that he could not control. The risk was small but also far too great. "I'll think about it…"

"Meaning 'no'," said Robin perceptively. "Your choice." _Your mistake,_ his penetrating gaze implied.

Merlin changed the subject quickly. "Tell me about the lights," he said. "Do you control them?"

Robin's laugh was startling. "I? Not at all. It's a rare soul who has that ability. 'Foolish fire' by name and nature both, these creatures be. They are not minions of mine. They are… kin, if you like. We are one."

"You're a will o' the wisp?" Merlin's face was the very image of disbelief. "You don't look like one. You're not glowing, or small, or…" _Deceitful_ was the word that died upon his lips. Robin claimed that he had never lied. But a liar would claim that as well. _Gwaine is rubbing off on me. I hope that's a good thing…_

"I told you I had many names. Each name has a face of its own."

"You're a shape-shifter." Little details came together in Merlin's brain to make a much larger picture. "That evening, when you arrived in the tavern… The fever, and your muddled state of mind. How long have you been in this body, exactly?"

"I knew you would be clever, Emrys." Robin's eyes were shining. "This body, as you call it, is the shape I show to mortals when I wish to walk among them freely. It is mine, like the hob and the wisp _._ They are one and yet I… slip between them. I can also take the shape of any creature that I choose. To travel here along the moonlight path, I was a bird; the one that bears my name. I liked the jest of being both _robin_ and _Robin_. Small things please me greatly. When I landed on the tavern roof and changed my form, it broke beneath my weight and I fell through; more _on_ the fight that _in_ it." He smiled and his glee was infectious. Merlin found that he was smiling too.

"That's when Leon and Gwaine discovered you. So, wait… Gwaine's guilt…"

"Was rather misplaced, I'm afraid. But useful. I could not be sure that I had truly found my way until I was brought before your good King Arthur - and the tavern is always the perfect place to meet an obliging knight, in the night. Though the fight was unexpected."

"But the wisps," Merlin persisted. "Why are _they_ here, and in such numbers?"

"That," said Robin calmly, "is the best part of my plan."

-x0x-

 **A/N: The next chapter may be a little later than usual since I'm going away and will have limited access to the internet. I will, however, have lots of time to write, which is always a good thing... Hope you enjoyed this update. Thank you to everyone who is still following the story, and to those lovely people who have left reviews, especially Candle-lit Dreams (you're so encouraging), the Guest who reviews every chapter (I love your comments), son-of-a-dragonlord (your reviews always make me smile), M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng (I know you'll catch up when you can!) and 1917farmgirl (thank you for checking this chapter!).**


	18. Chapter 18

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

" _ **Morning is an important time of day, because how you spend your morning can often tell you what kind of day you are going to have."  
(Lemony Snicket)**_

-x0x-

Dark night turned to blustery morning. Arthur was tired but happy. Waking early, he lay back in his bed and thought about the brighter points of yesterday, most of which involved Guinevere. She was the voice of reason in a maddening world, yet she could also take him far away… He drifted for a while until a new idea occurred to him. _Maybe I should write a poem for her,_ he thought, touched by the memory of the golden wisps around her.

"Guinevere," he murmured, testing his theory out loud. How hard could it be? "Guinevere…"

" _You are my North Star  
When I journey far.  
You bring me home  
When I roam  
And your face  
Is…"_

"A disgrace?" suggested Merlin from the doorway.

Arthur flushed. "I doubt Guinevere would appreciate _that_ ," he said snippily.

"Sorry. That was for Gwen?" Grinning, Merlin stepped into the room, Arthur's breakfast balanced precariously on one hand, and closed the door behind him. "So you're writing love poems now."

"Bad ones, apparently. Don't tell Percival," the king added as his gaze strayed involuntarily across the room to his weapons cache.

"Percival? What…? Actually, no; on second thoughts, forget I asked."

"How about we forget this conversation altogether," was Arthur's emphatic suggestion. He should have gone with his first instinct. Poetry was _not_ for him. Far too girly. Far too… disconcerting.

"What conversation?" Merlin countered. "I was just bringing you breakfast. Then you said nothing and, of course, I didn't reply…"

"Save me from infuriating servants," Arthur sighed, lobbing a pillow in Merlin's direction. It would have been something much harder, had he any inclination to get out of bed. Merlin dodged with surprising ease and kept on grinning. The king's good mood began to evaporate. "Why are you so early?"

"Because I'm not late." Merlin set the table in his own inimitable way, sweeping scrolls and other sundry items to the side.

"This whole jester thing…" Arthur muttered to himself as he threw back the covers and tried to persuade his body that it was time to rise. "I knew it was a bad idea. The whole castle's gone insane."

"Wasn't me spouting poetry about his beloved," Merlin reminded him smugly. "That was you."

"Merlin?" Arthur said steadily. It was a ritual these days; a standing joke between them.

"Shut up?"

"And leave. I'm feeling the urge to throw my breakfast at you this time… and that would be such a waste."

Merlin nodded. _I'll go then,_ he mouthed, and skipped away hastily.

Arthur gave a heavy sigh and flopped back against his pillow. No more dreaming; no more poetry. Now his mood was dull enough to match the sky outside, and that did not bode well for the day ahead…

-x0x-

Grinning inanely for so long had made Merlin's face ache. His mind was troubled but he could not share those troubles with his king – not until he had thought of a foolproof way to explain the danger that was rolling straight towards them, or how Robin came to know about it. _Or_ the jester's mad solution, for that matter. So, instead, he had taken a leaf out of Robin's book and covered his confusion with a joke or two and a merry smile. Easy enough to do when he had walked in upon Arthur spouting _poetry_ , of all things. That image brought the grin back swiftly. "Ow," sighed Merlin when his jaw protested.

He rubbed it thoughtfully, leaning against Arthur's door as he considered where to go next. Since the king had dismissed him for now – an unexpected bonus – maybe he should go and see Gwaine. His friend had seemed quite out of sorts last night. Understandable, but worrying nevertheless. The knight suspected something. Merlin knew he ought to try and find out what that something was; one plan at least that was easy enough to act upon. He set off eagerly.

As he strode through the citadel towards the wing where the knights had their quarters, Merlin sifted through the various thoughts that bubbled in his brain like the contents of a thick, gloopy stew.

Thought number one. Robin, their new court jester, was some kind of hobgoblin that could change shape at will. A trip down to the library might yield more information about _that_. Assuming Gaius hadn't heard of Puck already. Merlin made a mental note to talk to him, as soon as he had checked upon Gwaine.

Thought number two. A killer storm was heading for Camelot, thanks to Morgana and her crazy plan to tear the Veil apart. Merlin had seen – and _felt_ – how the world shifted during that dark time and he could quite believe that Nature's anger had wrought its own dire consequence. Unfortunate that it was aimed at them and not the witch, he thought, but clearly Nature had lumped them all together under the heading of 'guilty'. Merlin felt strangely perturbed that they had no way to warn Morgana of the danger that was coming. She was out there somewhere… Hard, even now, to separate his memory of the lady he once knew from the witch who schemed against her former friends. Hard not to feel that he _was_ , in fact, somewhat guilty of causing her enmity and her distress.

Thought number three. Robin had a plan, and it was so far beyond ridiculous that it might actually work. Fighting darkness with light was a natural concept after all. But to use the wisps… He still didn't understand how. Nor did Robin, fully. _That_ was a surprise – and not a pleasant one.

"I told you there are a few rare souls who can influence my brethren," the jester had explained. "I suspect you might be one of them."

Merlin had frowned in consternation. "So, what? I just… talk to them? How? And then what? They're little balls of light – a whole lot of them, granted, but... What can _they_ do against a raging storm?"

"You are the sorcerer, not I." Robin spoke with far more gravity than he had ever shown before. "I can only fumble for the answer in my own small way." With a tiny smile, he added: "Why not ask your mentor? He knows many things."

 _I don't think this is something Gaius can solve for me._ Merlin's own reply still lingered in his mind, even now, and he pondered the implication. This was something he had to work out for himself, and quickly. Judging by the wind and the constant rainfall, time was running out. The storm could be upon them very soon. "We're in trouble," he muttered, as he reached Gwaine's door and tapped gently.

"Nobody here," said a muffled voice. "Go away."

Obstinate as always, Merlin chose to ignore the ridiculous lie and opened the door instead. A muggy wave of sweat and stale rain-washed linen assaulted him. "You need to open a window," he suggested, crossing the room and performing that vital service on the occupant's behalf. "And you need, you know, a bath. Or something."

"Did you come here to insult me?" grumbled the knight, from beneath a swirl of bedclothes. One foot stuck out at a random angle. So did his bandaged arm. The rest of him was a sorry lump in hiding. His bright little friend, meanwhile, had disappeared completely – probably driven away by the smell.

"Hangover?" Merlin queried, full of sympathy.

"Not so you'd notice." Gwaine poked his head out and peered through the tangle that was currently his hair. "Though I know someone who might be feeling… sensitive this morning. It _is_ morning, right?" he added, squinting at the grey sky through the open window.

"It is – though I seem to be the only one who knows it. You knights are a lazy lot," Merlin commented cheerfully, pouring out a drink of water for his rumpled friend. "I just left Arthur. He was still in bed as well. You feeling better?" he added, popping out the question in a random sort of way. He knew Gwaine. The man was stubborn and surprisingly close-mouthed when it came to subjects that mattered. Any attack had to come from the side, and be sneaky.

Gwaine sat up, dislodging his nest, and flexed his wounded arm. "Bit," he mumbled. Merlin handed him the water. "Thanks. For checking on me. And… last night."

"You weren't yourself. Think nothing of it. Only…" Merlin paused and studied him curiously, as though the thought had just occurred to him. "You were a little… short with Robin. I thought the two of you had hit it off."

"Jealous?" Neatly avoiding the point, Gwaine raised his eyebrows.

"Ha ha. No," said Merlin. "I think it's great. You, making friends. Which is why I wondered…"

"I like him, sure. He's a funny fellow. 'Funny' doesn't mean I trust him." Gwaine turned away with a dark look. There it was. The heart of the problem, hiding in his scowl.

"I know exactly what you mean," Merlin offered earnestly. "But I'm pretty certain he's safe. I can feel it."

The knight grew still, like a prowling cat that has sensed its prey. "Safe. That's a strange way to put it."

"It's just a word." Merlin shrugged. "What do _you_ think?"

"Eh." With a laugh that said Merlin was wasting his time, Gwaine stretched and tucked his arms behind his head, wincing ever so slightly, but determined to ignore the pain he obviously felt in order to act as though nothing was bothering him. "I have a rule. No interrogations before breakfast."

"We're just talking, Gwaine. I value your opinion."

"You'd be the first, then." Gwaine's grin was wide. "Very well. What do _I_ think?" He paused to consider the question properly – out of respect for his friend, no doubt.

Merlin waited, feeling tense. Robin's advice was still ringing in his ears. _The knight is your ally. Tell him…_

 _No,_ he decided, giving himself just a little more time. _Listen first._

"You know I've travelled a lot," Gwaine said at last. "Seen things you can't imagine. Things you don't _ever_ want to see. Magic – it's a fact of life. Just another kind of power, like nobility. And power corrupts, Merlin; we've both seen it, many times. Morgana is the living, breathing proof of that corruption, if you really need it. I don't know many sorcerers, it's true. I've yet to meet one that I trust. If I did…" He shrugged, and that shrug gave Merlin the courage to hope. The moment was close. He had almost decided…

"Why are we talking about magic?" he ventured carefully.

Gwaine looked shifty for a moment. He dropped his gaze. Here lay secrets. "Ever hear of Emrys?"

Merlin's heart almost stopped. His breath caught in his chest, constricting it painfully. "Why?" he managed to blurt out, forcing his voice to sound casual.

"He's a sorcerer. Some kind of trickster. Could be here in Camelot." Gwaine's tone was meaningful. "Sound like anyone we know?"

And just like that, the conversation turned on its head. Now Merlin was trapped in a riddle of his own. Gwaine thought that Robin was Emrys. How had he even _heard_ that name? And how could Merlin prove that it was not so? _Should_ he prove it? Or was this an unexpected opportunity? If Gwaine knew that Robin had magic, and understood the looming threat, perhaps he would help them. Because right now, they needed all the help they could get.

If Gwaine knew that _Merlin_ had magic… In Merlin's tortured mind, he imagined the road that might lead on from such a revelation and the crossroads where it broke apart into many different paths, each one more alarming than the last and only one of them the true path.

Time passed by. Merlin floundered… and the moment slipped away; a loss that was something akin to bereavement. He held his features perfectly still, afraid that if he moved them he might weep.

"You don't know what I'm talking about." Gwaine nodded to himself, unsurprised. He climbed out of bed and stretched his back, groaning dramatically. "I'm starving. Didn't I warn you? Breakfast before conversation – it's a golden rule. My belly's complaining. Fancy a trip to the kitchens? I have a yearning for bread. And fish - and eggs, I think." When Merlin still didn't reply, he continued: "Look, forget I said anything. It's not important, really. I've probably grabbed the wrong end of the stick, like I always do. This is my problem, not yours. Just need to get my head on straight and I'll be fine."

 _I know the feeling,_ Merlin sighed. "Food sounds good," was all he said, but that was a lie. The way his gut was twisting in knots, he might never be hungry again.

-x0x-

 **A/N:** **I managed to squeeze in one more update before my trip – hope you liked it!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

" _ **Humour keeps us alive. Humour and food. Don't forget food. You can go a week without laughing." (Joss Whedon)**_

-x0x-

Merlin followed Gwaine to the kitchens, still lost in thought as he trudged along behind the knight. He took little notice of the journey, nor did he catch a single word of Gwaine's jolly monologue. Too many questions remained and they plagued him. How was he going to tell Arthur about the storm? How bad could it possibly be? When would it reach Camelot? And what on earth was _he_ supposed to do about it when he couldn't even bring himself to tell a trusted friend his secret?

"Look at that," Gwaine observed, halting so quickly that Merlin bumped into him. "We made it. Well, _I_ did, at least. Not bad for a wounded man. _You_ appear to be somewhere else entirely."

"Sorry." Merlin forced himself to focus. "I was thinking."

"Very dangerous habit. Want to talk about it?"

Merlin gave a weary shrug. _I wish..._ The offer itself was comforting, however, and he smiled at Gwaine, keen to show his gratitude. "Not right now. But if I do..." There was no need to finish.

"I hope so," his friend said firmly, and that was that. "Come on, then. I'm starving. Let's eat."

In the world below Arthur's privileged domain, preparations were in full swing for the day ahead. As a servant himself, Merlin knew better than most how much pride and industry went into the smooth running of such a great castle. The kitchens were managed by Audrey and she was a force to be reckoned with. Some even called her a dragon (though not to her face). In Merlin's expert opinion, Kilgharrah had more grace in a single claw than Audrey could ever display in her lifetime. He was wise and she was quarrelsome. He was bold and she was fierce. He made his enemies run away, screaming in terror. She made her underlings cry. Most of all, Kilgharrah saw great potential in Merlin and gave him hope. Audrey saw only a clumsy, good-for-nothing country bumpkin and tried to take him down a peg or two. The cook was no dragon. A dragon would eat _her_ for breakfast.

Never one to let a small matter like personality get in his way, Gwaine (who was cunning and always hungry) sought out Audrey's weakness – a secret love of flattery - and chose to exploit it shamelessly. His charming approach had one regrettable side-effect – it made him the target for her wild romantic hopes. Their banter was the verbal equivalent of swordplay and a dance combined.

On this particular morning, Audrey was all smiles and sympathy, much to Merlin's astonishment. Gwaine took it in his stride. Clearly, he had no compunction about using his stiff, bandaged arm or his pale demeanour to win food-based favours either.

"Such bravery, Sir Knight," Audrey crooned, reaching out with her hand and then snatching it away at the very last moment. "You're a saint, an' that's a fact. They should hold a ceremony... We could have a special day. Gwaine's Day."

Merlin snorted. Even the 'saint' had the grace to flush. "Come now," he murmured. "I wouldn't go that far. Is that salted pork...?" he added, peering over her shoulder as he tried to change the subject.

"With your name on it too," Audrey simpered. Wincing at her atrocious lack of subtlety, Merlin raised a tentative hand.

"I like pork..."

"None left," she told him bluntly.

"It's right there. And you just said..."

"He can share with me," Gwaine offered cheerfully. Audrey flinched and glared at Merlin. Perhaps she was trying to make him vanish with the power of her eyes. If so, the effort must have been a painful one. Her lips were pressed together in a narrow line and her cheeks were florid. "No need to be such a tease, Audrey," the knight continued, seeking peace. "You're a generous woman at heart. I'm sure Merlin can have what he wants. There are provisions enough here to feed an army. Dried apples, now; where would _they_ be? In the back room, perhaps? I have a strange fancy for some on my porridge..."

"The perfect pairing." Audrey sighed wistfully, as though she had something else entirely on her mind. "I'll tell the Girl to fetch them at once from storage."

The Girl was a nervous creature; Audrey's whip-thin familiar who followed at her heels, trying to anticipate her every need in order to preserve the peace and keep her mistress happy. Not that 'happy' was a word one could really apply to Audrey, but the Girl did her level best and the atmosphere in the kitchens would have been considerably worse without her valiant efforts.

"Thank you. I'll just sit down for a moment, I think," said Gwaine with an affected sigh that made Merlin suspicious.

"Don't overdo it," he whispered, as Audrey turned away to issue her instructions. The warning was two-fold; a subtle play on words that was worthy of Robin himself. Merlin felt quite proud of his achievement.

Gwaine was unimpressed. _Would I?_ said his hurt expression. Merlin chuckled. No matter how gloomy he felt, spending time with his friend was always a tonic in the end. The knight grabbed a nearby stool and lowered himself onto it. "That's better," he exclaimed, and this time Merlin could tell that he really meant it.

Audrey bustled around the room, looking busy and important, all the while keeping an eye on Gwaine as she rattled on eagerly. "I've heard tell of your adventure in the woods. It's all around the castle. That poor little girl! An' what a wicked thing her mother did; forcing people to grieve for her. I can't abide those druids. Selfish 'n' secretive, the lot of them. But then, magic has an ugly heart, they do say. Still, I can't believe she meant for the curse to harm such a kind soul as yourself. An' your friends, trapped like that - so lucky, they were, to have you there with your quick wit an' your courage. You're a proper hero, Sir Gwaine. Leastways, that's what folk are sayin' an' I'll have words myself with any fool who disagrees." Once again, she frowned at Merlin.

"Hey," he protested. _An ugly heart? Wonderful._ "Gwaine's a hero, yes. I know it."

"Tell me, how do _you_?" Gwaine asked Audrey warily. He looked a little sick; his cheerful mood sinking faster than a soggy pie. "Know so much about it, I mean? Who's been talking?"

"Why, everyone," she told him, worried all of a sudden. "Did I speak out of turn? I meant no harm; believe me, sir."

"Everyone – and Robin," Merlin muttered under his breath. "He may have... erm, mentioned the incident, down in the tavern last night."

"He _may_ have," Gwaine repeated evenly. "I see."

At this point, their conversation was diverted from its thorny path by a high-pitched squeal that made Merlin jump and caused Audrey to drop the metal plate that she was holding. It struck the stone floor, chiming like the dread tone of the warning bell. Everyone froze, transfixed, until the plate came to rest at Merlin's feet and the unholy noise died away. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. Audrey looked embarrassed.

Gwaine seemed less surprised by the sudden interruption, though he hid it well, feigning his reaction with enough skill to fool the cook, at least. It was his watchful friend who spotted the gleam in his eye. Suddenly, their random trip to the kitchens took on a whole new meaning.

"What's going on?" Merlin murmured.

"Hush!" said Gwaine, as the Girl returned. She was wide-eyed and breathless; more startled than scared. Her buck teeth nibbled at her bottom lip when she saw Audrey's frown.

"Save us; not _another_ rat," the cook grumbled. "Must be the weather. This place is overrun. I'll have to send for the ratcatcher soon!" Rounding on the servant, she continued fiercely: "Where's your backbone, Girl? Get rid of it, this instant, can't you? What's all the fuss about?"

The Girl shook her head, still too breathless to speak clearly. "I saw... It's not... I can't..."

"Want us to help?" said Merlin kindly, feeling sorry for her – and more than a little curious. Was that a nervous twitch or silent laughter tugging at the corners of her mouth?

Audrey sniffed and turned to Gwaine, as though he were the one who had spoken. "Brave _an'_ thoughtful. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome," Merlin stated loudly, causing Gwaine to chuckle this time. The knight's spirits seemed to be rising again as he pushed himself up from his stool. Together, he and Merlin took their leave and headed through the busy kitchen, dodging benches laden with all manner of wholesome treats. Gwaine snagged a couple of small loaves in passing and gave one to his friend. The thick crust was warm and the smell was heavenly. Merlin broke off a bite-sized chunk and popped it into his mouth. "S'good," he mumbled, trying not to burn his tongue.

"You need some meat on your bones, Merlin," Gwaine advised him solemnly, eyeing up the contents of a nearby spit.

"Br'd'll do f'ne, th'nk you," Merlin retorted, gulping down the whole loaf in just a few large mouthfuls - a technique he had perfected in Camelot over the last few years. His mother would be horrified. At least she wasn't here to see it. _Inhaling his food,_ Gaius liked to call it. Not healthy, to be sure, but a vital skill for Arthur's harried servant, who had so many balls in the air these days that he could barely keep them spinning. Life was hectic. No wonder Merlin had little time left to indulge his appetite.

Gwaine, on the other hand, had somehow managed to procure a slab of cheese by now that went quite nicely with his bread. Merlin stared at him in amazement. "Where do _you_ put it? You should be the size of a barrel."

"Not likely. Food is my friend." Gwaine led the way out of the main room into a long stone corridor lined with doors and little-used items – wonky stools; old cooking pots; huge plates; a broken paddle in a splintered tub. The air was cooler here, away from the heat of Audrey's lair. It was quieter, too. The hustle and bustle grew faint as they turned a corner into coolness and deep shadow, heading for the winter storeroom. A pattering of footsteps was their first indication that the Girl had chosen – or been instructed – to join them after all. She rounded the corner, still breathless and very excited by now.

"It isn't a rat, is it?" Merlin's suspicion was growing.

The Girl bobbed a curtsey. "No, sir."

"I'm not 'sir'. I'm just Merlin. You know that." He smiled at the young girl. "A servant, like you."

"Prince _Arthur's_ servant - an' _he's_ a knight. Sir Hero." She shrugged. "That's why it has to be yous two an' not me. I don't have the right."

"To do what?" Feeling totally mystified, Merlin shouldered his way past Gwaine, who had paused to lean on the corridor wall for a moment. The knight's face was lost in shadow.

"To wake _him_ , o' course," the Girl whispered, snatching up a nearby candle and pointing through the open doorway.

Merlin froze. His mouth fell open.

This _,_ he thought gleefully; _this_ was a moment to savour.

The king's annoying uncle – last seen fleeing from the Rising Sun – was lying on the storeroom floor, curled up and sleeping soundly with an empty jug cradled in his arms. The debris of a late night feast lay all around him. He had egg on his face, which was oddly appropriate. His snores were gentle, pig-like and contented. It almost seemed a shame to wake him.

Merlin stepped closer. "My lord?" he ventured uncertainly.

The Girl shook her head. "See now, that won't do it. Even when I screamed, he never heard me. Yous'll have to shake him."

 _Then I really hope Robin was speaking the truth._ If Agravaine still had a serpent's tongue, this was going to be a very rude awakening. Merlin turned to his friend. 'Gwaine? Couldn't _you_...?"

With a shake of his head, the knight declined. "Tempting... but no. I'm no favourite of his."

"Well, he doesn't like me either," Merlin countered. "Maybe we should get someone else..."

"Like Arthur? I could fetch him right now." The offer was far too eager.

"Very funny. I was thinking more along the lines of Gaius."

"Whassat?" Agravaine mumbled drowsily. The Girl gave another of her high-pitched squeals, and he flapped at his ear in annoyance. "Rats in my room again?"

"Lord Agravaine, wake up. It's me." By this point, Merlin was trying so hard not to laugh that he could barely speak at all.

" _Merlin_? What are you...?" Agravaine opened one eye. "Wait... Oh! This isn't my room. And why...?" He looked down at the jug and groaned, for the movement clearly caused him some discomfort. "I don't understand," he said plaintively.

Merlin crouched down, full of relief to discover that Agravaine's tongue was, indeed, back to normal. "What do you remember?"

Agravaine sat up. Crumbs rained down from his clothing and he brushed them aside with disgust. As for the jug, he hung on to it. Perhaps it was a comfort. "You," he said. "And that ridiculous rhyming fellow. In the tavern..."

"Last night," Merlin nodded. "Arthur sent us there. What else?" Secretly, he kept his fingers crossed. Gwaine and the Girl were listening too, behind him.

"Why, nothing!" Agravaine seemed irritated. "I had a drink, to steady my... I mean, to lubricate my throat. Then..." He turned pale. "I can't remember!"

"Not a thing?" Gwaine stepped into the candlelight. He, too, looked full of relief; an expression that triggered a memory for Merlin.

 _I met Agravaine..._

The echo was brief yet vivid. Those were the knight's very words, spoken to Robin last night in the stable yard. Merlin turned and stared at his friend. Gwaine raised his eyebrows, the picture of wounded innocence. In his case, that was practically a confession. And suddenly Merlin understood how Gwaine had come to hear about Emrys - a name, dropped in conversation, and a set of false conclusions drawn from the ramblings of a drunken man with a magical serpent's tongue.

Agravaine, meanwhile, was taking in the chaos all around him. "What am I doing here? Tell me at once!"

"I should have thought it was obvious," Gwaine replied sweetly. That comment earned him a scowl, but Agravaine's heart wasn't in it; not really. He was far too worried.

"There'll be gossip," he whispered, casting a wary glance at the Girl. Her eyes were wide and she hopped from one foot to the other, clearly itching to spread the news. Soon enough, this tale would travel all around the castle, just like the one that Robin had told last night. Which meant it was only a matter of time before Arthur and the court found out as well...

But wait!

Merlin gasped. How stupid! How utterly stupid he was. Once again, Sir Leon's theory was the perfect answer to his own problem. Sow the seeds of gossip and the threat of a dangerous storm would reach Arthur's ear before midday. There would be no way for the king to trace it back to Robin or himself. No awkward questions to evade. Only a call to action. "Perfect," Merlin whispered, much to Agravaine's annoyance.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Merlin thought quickly. "Pardon, my lord. I only meant we'll stay _perfectly_ quiet about this little... escapade of yours. Isn't that right, Gwaine?"

 _Speak for yourself,_ said the set of Gwaine's jaw. Agravaine swallowed.

"I would, of course, be exceedingly grateful," he muttered, trying – and failing - to summon his usual courtly manner. The egg on his face made it hard to take him seriously, as did the jug in his arms.

Gwaine made a point of considering, long and hard. "How grateful?" he grinned at last, and Merlin knew that Agravaine was trapped in a net of the knight's own creation.

The miserable lord gave a sigh and bowed his head in defeat. "State your terms..."


	20. Chapter 20

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty**

" _ **Advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill."  
(J.R.R. Tolkien)**_

-x0x-

"He said his name was Puck? You're certain?"

"Why? Have you heard of him?"

Gaius looked uncomfortable. "In a manner of speaking. The circumstances… I must confess, it pains me to remember them."

They sat together on Merlin's simple cot – for him, the safest place in all of Camelot. Little chance of anyone bursting in upon them here, particularly since Gwaine (the most likely culprit) had gone straight back to bed with his magnificent breakfast. The knight had refused to answer any of Merlin's questions concerning Lord Agravaine's plight, seeming very keen to escape his friend's company all of a sudden. As Merlin had some pretty important problems of his own to work on, this suited them both and they parted in excellent humour. Lord Agravaine himself was _not_ so happy. Gwaine's demands had been creative, promising high entertainment in the days to come.

Assuming, of course, that they weren't all blown to pieces by Robin's mighty storm.

"I'm sorry to cause you pain," Merlin told his guardian gently. "But it's very important. I _need_ you to remember, Gaius. Please?" The old man's reluctance to share was unusual, and worrying. How bad could this memory be?

Gaius looked down at his wrinkled hands in shame. "Do you recall… the goblin?"

"I don't think I'll _ever_ forget." Merlin pulled a face. "I released him, after all. Which made it my fault, really. Uther's baldness. Leon's affliction. Arthur's… ears." His lips were twitching by now, though he tried to look penitent. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. "Oh! I see."

"That creature stole my body. It's quite the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me. However…" Gaius paused (for effect, Merlin half-suspected).

"However?" he prompted, trying not to sound impatient. His quick brain was racing ahead but this was Gaius' tale and he had well and truly earned the right to tell it.

"You asked me once if I could remember anything about it. At the time, I told you I had no control. That was the dreadful truth. I was a prisoner in my own body, Merlin; an experience I would _never_ wish to repeat. However… What I neglected to mention was that I could hear every thought the goblin had; an internal monologue that was irritating in the extreme, full of self-praise and vulgar delight in the suffering of others – myself included." Gaius gave a weary sigh. "Truly exhausting. Second only to his obsession with gold was the goblin's pride in the tricks he played. In his _humble_ opinion, he considered them equal or even superior to the great deeds of someone called Puck, an infamous trickster who dwelt in the court of the Sidhe. I rather fancy our 'friend' had a notion to challenge him. Some kind of fairy duel, no doubt, with deception as a weapon and rank as the glittering prize."

"Had you heard tell of Puck before then?"

"I had not. The goblin piqued my curiosity and so, when I was… myself again, I did a little research."

Merlin raised his eyebrows, silently urging Gaius to continue.

"Nothing," sighed the physician. "Not one story; not one sentence. Not even a comical rhyme. All I know of Puck is tainted by the goblin's point of view but I can tell you this much, Merlin – the fellow is not to be trusted. If Robin is telling the truth about his identity… well then, he may not be telling the truth about anything else. Puck is a liar. Just like the goblin, he delights in trickery and mischief."

Sharp as a blade, suspicion stabbed at Merlin. "I don't know," he said slowly. "He told me all that himself, with no prompting. He chose to be honest about it. Why would he do that if he wanted to deceive us?"

"The cleverest lie can be hidden in truth." Gaius sniffed. "Why did he wait so long to reveal himself when the stakes, he claims, are so very high?"

"He had to be sure of _me_." Merlin could not understand why he felt the need to defend Robin. Perhaps it was the best way to convince himself that he had not fallen victim to a colourful lie from a likeable villain. "This _is_ Camelot, remember? You can't just walk up to the gates and say: 'Hey! I have magic!' Or, you know, fly…"

"He flew?" said Gaius dryly.

"As a bird…" Merlin mumbled. "A robin, he said."

"Of course he did." The physician sighed again. "Merlin, one of your finest qualities is your desire to see the best in everyone around you; a precious gift that also happens to be one of your greatest weaknesses. You can't trust this man - or Sidhe, or goblin, or whatever he may be. You know that, don't you?"

Stubbornly, Merlin shook his head. " _Here's_ what I know. He came to warn us. His description of the storm was vivid. What could he possibly gain from such a tale? It made a strange kind of sense, Gaius. Talk to Robin yourself, if you like. You'll see."

"Oh, I plan to. In the meantime, what do _you_ intend to do? Since you seem to value the advice of a flying hobgoblin over that of your wisest friend…" Gaius' words were sarcastic but there was a wry grin on his face that softened their effect considerably.

"You mean Gwaine?" Merlin quipped. Gaius glared at him, and he chuckled. "Oh, come on! That was practically a gift. As for the first part of my plan… well, I'm afraid I've already gone and done it. Robin had _better_ be telling the truth. There's no stopping a rumour once you've set it loose. Not here in Camelot…"

-x0x-

Sir Gwaine had a restless soul and a finely honed talent for rationalisation, which was why, at midday, he found himself heading for the throne room and Arthur's latest knightly briefing. Lying in bed was a dull way to recuperate. Surely even Gaius would not wish him to die of boredom. "Besides. I'm not leaving the citadel now, am I?" he argued smugly. "I'm just paying attention. It's my duty to know what's afoot. My _brain_ wasn't wounded; only my body. Isn't that right, Pest?"

The glowing creature had returned to him just as he was wiping his breakfast platter clean with a hunk of bread. He almost felt happy to see the wisp. That was a curious revelation; one that he pushed to the back of his mind. Warm, fuzzy feelings were the province of maidens and poets, not warriors.

Needless to say, the other knights were amused – and more than a little concerned – to meet Gwaine's new friend. As he stepped into the room, trying hard to appear fit for duty in spite of his bandages, they stared at him, first in sympathy (which he expected) and then in wide-eyed astonishment (which made him grin from ear to ear).

"Wait - it's following you?" Elyan said warily. He seemed tense, as though preparing to take a step back, and he patted his clothing subconsciously.

"Perhaps it likes your pretty face," smirked Percival, earning a clout on the arm for his trouble as Gwaine's smile faded.

"That'll be why it's not following _you_ , then," the wounded knight retorted. Pest burned with amusement at their banter. Arthur's stare, meanwhile, was icy cold.

"What's that thing doing here?" he demanded. "Send it away at once."

"Well now, I would if I could." Gwaine shrugged lopsidedly. "If it's any consolation, I'm _fairly_ certain Pest is friendly."

"Pest," Leon muttered. "Perfect."

 _No consolation whatsoever,_ said the look on Arthur's face. "Should _you_ be here?" was all he said. "Has Gaius given you leave to return to duty?"

"I'm always right where I should be," the knight insisted, hoping his airy charm would carry the day. To his great surprise, Sir Leon leapt to his defence, adding weight to his flimsy argument.

"You look much better. I'm glad to see you."

"And I'm glad to be seen, believe me," Gwaine replied, flushing. Leon's heartfelt gratitude was written all over his face. "Let's get on with it, shall we? Wouldn't want to keep his Highness waiting." Deflect and survive. Perhaps he should make that his motto. Paint it on a shield, or something, like a proper fancy lord… The thought amused him and he followed it, only pausing when he realised that Arthur had been speaking for quite some time. The other knights were listening carefully. Gwaine tried to pretend that he had been doing the same. Percival gave him a sidelong glance, causing him to suspect that his earnest expression was fooling no one.

No one but Arthur, unfortunately. "Sir Gwaine, what are your thoughts?"

A question with so many possible answers, and most of them humorous. _You don't want to know,_ Gwaine sighed as he tried to extricate himself from the conversational snare that had entangled him. "I think…" he began, with the pensive look of a man who has so many useful things to say that he cannot choose between them.

This time, it was Percival who leapt to his aid. " _I_ think the danger is real," he said solemnly.

"At the very least, we should find out if there's any truth to the rumours," Elyan added.

Rumours? Of danger? Intriguing. Gwaine tried to pick up a few more clues even as he cursed himself for being so easily distracted. "Definitely. I agree," he ventured.

"Pardon me, my lord, but surely bad weather is nothing to fear?" Leon said to Arthur. "What can a storm do, truly?"

"Ask the people who live outside our sturdy walls," said Elyan with feeling. "Bad weather can be the worst foe of all; destructive and relentless. I've seen it, many times."

"So have I," Gwaine agreed. He was beginning to understand. "A storm demands respect – and action."

"You think we should warn the farms and the outer villages." Arthur nodded. "I agree. These rumours may turn out to be little more than fairy tales and fear-mongering but we can't really take that chance. Not when people's lives could be at stake."

"Homes can be remade," Percival observed, summing up the situation neatly. "Death is less obliging."

"Do we know where the rumours came from? If we could find out more details…" Sir Leon looked thoughtful. "I'm agreeing with you," he added hastily, when Elyan frowned at him. "Knowing the path the storm might take will show us where best to carry our warning, and our aid."

"Apparently, as all good rumours do, they started in the lower town," Arthur said with a wry expression. Gwaine chuckled. "I myself heard it from Guinevere, who heard it from a maid, who heard it from her friend, the baker… and so on, all the way back to some white-haired old man, passing through the market, weather-wise and spouting tales of wind that could raise a roof or topple a tower completely. Utter nonsense, of course, but there may be some truth behind it and that does concern me. The old man himself is proving difficult to find, or I'd question him further. All I know is, he came from the north. Or so the _rumours_ say…"

"Which means he could have wandered in from anywhere," Leon nodded. "What do you need us to do?"

"Ride out," said Arthur simply. "Two men in every direction. Three to the northern villages, if you can spare them. Warn the people and help them prepare, just in case. Those who are close to the city can shelter within our walls, as always. Oh, and if you see this storm approaching - and it is indeed a threat - send word back to Camelot immediately."

"Understood."

Gwaine watched Leon stiffen with resolve. His own face was placid but deep down, he made a resolution of his own. He could not bear to be the only knight left behind in Camelot, twiddling his fingers as he waited for the others to return. Three men dispatched to the northern villages? _Make that four,_ he decided quietly, hatching his plans and avoiding the gaze of his friends, who knew him far too well.

He did not dare to think about the dreadful fate that would befall him when he returned to face Gaius. No doubt, this turbulent storm would feel like a gentle breeze compared to the wrath of Camelot's physician.

-x0x-

 **A/N: Yes, the knights are riding out again! Hooray! Because I couldn't leave the poor villagers to fend for themselves now, could I? (1917farmgirl, you read my mind!)**

 **Updates are likely to be a little more spread out over the next month or so, as I have a major project to contend with, but I will keep them coming! There are some exciting chapters ahead, and I'm looking forward to writing them…**


	21. Chapter 21

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty One**

" _ **I must learn to love the fool in me – the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries."  
(Theodore Isaac Rubin)**_

-x0x-

"And so it seems that I am not the only one in Camelot who wears two faces…"

Robin's sly comment came out of the shadows where he was lurking as Merlin passed by unaware.

"Hush!" cried the servant, glancing round in shock. "Not here."

"Then where?" The jester sidled up to him, his tone confiding and his pity genuine. "You spend your whole life hiding in the shadows, Merlin. A cold and lonely place to dwell. Do you not yearn to stand in the sun and feel its warmth upon your face?"

"You mean tell them my secret?" Merlin sighed. "You're never going to let that go, are you? Of course I want to but it's not that simple. You have no idea..."

"Or perhaps I have _many_." Robin gave a knowing smile. "Ideas, that is. About you, and your elderly 'friend', for instance. Not Gaius, but the feisty long-haired fellow. Tell me, does the old man speak your true thoughts? Is he a mask – a fiction – or the future hope of Albion brought to life for all to see? Not quite the imposing form I would have expected, yet your performance was masterful. I applaud you." And he did, with vigour.

"You were there!"

"Of course. I am everywhere…" Rendered guilty by Merlin's look of dismay, Robin bowed and made his confession. "A jest. Forgive me. Yes, Merlin; I was in the market place this morning, quite by chance, when the 'old man' spoke his warning. Apparently magic is not your only hidden talent. You have quite the flair for sarcasm too. Who would have thought the genial servant could be so bad-tempered?" He slapped Merlin on the back. "A fine display, worthy of… well, of _myself_ , as a matter of fact."

Merlin shrugged. "Sometimes it feels good to let off steam," he admitted in a quiet voice. He did not challenge Robin's assertion. What would be the point? Any attempt to do so would be laughable. Besides, it was nice to be known for once. Wearing the face of Dragoon in order to spread his rumour through the market crowd had been a moment of daring – and a great deal of fun. To share this particular joke with Robin made it even more enjoyable.

"You speak the truth," the jester said with feeling. "Trickery is my release. The old man is yours; I see that plainly. Your plan was a good one, by the way. Already, the king takes action."

"He does?" Merlin felt a surge of pride, for Arthur as well as himself. "How do you know that?"

"I listen through doors, of course. The grander, the better. A wretched habit, but a useful one."

Merlin flushed, thinking of the times when he, too, had been guilty of that particular offense. "It's a useful way to find out what's going on," he mumbled in agreement. "When you're stuck in the shadows, I mean…"

"Ha! Very good. Humour - oh, how I relish it. More satisfying to me than the finest banquet or a golden sunrise on a perfect day."

"I feel that way when I do magic." Merlin's confession was shy. It felt wonderful to be talking so freely to someone other than Gaius – even though his ears still strained for the tell-tale sound of footsteps in the distance. "Without it, I would feel…"

"Starved?"

"Yes, like a man who cannot find the means to cure his hunger."

"Or like a man who has fallen by a stream and cannot take that final step to quench his thirst?"

"Exactly!" Grabbing the jester's arm eagerly, Merlin pulled him into an empty guest room and shut the door behind them. "You understand."

"With every fibre of my being."

"Can I… talk to you some more? You don't mind? I get carried away… well, most of the time, really. 'Shut up, Merlin!'; that's what they always say," he declared in a fair imitation of Arthur's voice and manner.

As a prelude to his answer, Robin gave a smile of pure delight that spread from his lips to the rest of his face and set his dark eyes dancing.

"Emrys," he said. "If you choose to trust a fool then you can tell me anything."

-x0x-

Gwaine was suitably proud of the fact that he had made it to the stables this time without falling over or – worse still – encountering Bree. While the other knights were still busy making their plans, he left Camelot altogether, riding Fortunata past the guards at the gate with such purpose and conviction in his bearing that they did not think to challenge him. Once out of sight, he slumped in the saddle but refused to slow the pace. From out of a charcoal sky, Pest flew down to join him. "Why am I not surprised?" Gwaine grumbled amiably. "You're even more stubborn than I am."

As was his habit, the wisp did not settle but rode the air above his shoulder with an ease that felt like smugness to Gwaine. "Just like a fish," he told the creature. " Always on the move. How on earth do you sleep? You burn and burn... it must be tiring. Don't you ever fade?"

Pest bobbed up and down. "Was that a shrug?" the knight demanded. "It was! I can tell. You know, for a quiet fellow, you're a great conversationalist. Lucky for you, I'm a master of one-sided banter. Ask anyone – or better yet, don't. They'd probably just complain about the way I go on. Comes of being alone far too often in my travelling days. I talk to myself, that's the problem. If someone's there to hear it, all the better – royalty; fellow knights; best friend. Horse." He raised his eyebrows. "Irritating ball of fire." The light-hearted insult caused the wisp to jiggle merrily in mid air. "And hey, you appreciate my sense of humour. This could be the beginning of an excellent friendship." Gwaine's solemn nod expressed his deep satisfaction. "Man and wisp united. Riding out to face the storm with nothing to protect them but their courage and their pride..."

His impassioned speech was interrupted by a timely snort from Fortunata.

"Jealousy doesn't become you," Gwaine told her archly, parting her neck with fondness all the same. "You _know_ you're my girl."

The mare tossed her head with delight, as though she understood his meaning perfectly.

Together, the unlikely trio rode on as the day grew dark around them. It was late in the afternoon by now but the sky was so heavy with cloud that time became immeasurable. Gwaine felt strangely oppressed by the weight of water hanging up above him. Unbidden, his weary mind transformed the cloudbanks into dragons, which only served to make them even more alarming. He was glad, therefore, to reach the cover of a copse of trees, where he paused and tried to pretend to his horse, the wisp and himself that he wasn't hiding from imaginary monsters.

He also tried to ignore the fact that he was sweating, in spite of the cool air, or that his body ached as though he had just fought a battle – and lost.

"I'm not sick," he told himself with false cheer. "I'm just tired. Stands to reason."

 _Hrrmph,_ was Fortunata's bold opinion.

"You think we should rest here? I agree," Gwaine said blithely, sliding down from her saddle with more than his usual care, so as not to end up in a heap on the rough grass. He did not think he could bear to be laughed at by his two unlikely friends. "There's quite enough shelter, in case the rain should fall, and we can keep an eye out for the knights who are heading this way. We're far enough from Camelot. They won't send me back." He spoke with far more confidence than he felt. If it should be Leon... "I'm not _going_ back," Gwaine amended.

Fortunata ducked her head in equine approval.

"I knew you'd understand." Gwaine stroked her nose with his gloved hand. She _was_ his girl. He had ridden her into far more dangerous situations than any other horse from Camelot's excellent stock, and there was a bond between them that he did not choose to speak of in front of the other knights. Foolishness. Sentiment. Love, if you wished to call it that. He grinned in embarrassment at the thought and pulled his hand away. "Now then; food," he said loudly, turning his attention to the wisp. "And a fire. Perhaps you could help me with that?"

Pest flickered with scorn and scooted off into the trees to explore.

"Thanks a lot," sighed Gwaine. "Looks like I'm the one on stick duty, then. Fine friend you turned out to be. Guess I should've brought Merlin..."

As he scouted around for kindling, the first raindrops sounded their rallying call on the canopy overhead and a chill wind sent a shiver chasing up and down his spine like an ominous warning of danger to come. Hunching his shoulders painfully, Gwaine tried hard to ignore it.

-x0x-

"Do the wisps have a language of their own, like the dragons?"

Merlin and his new friend had adjourned to the archives. Somehow, the dark and musty room, with its shelves full of knowledge preserved for all time, felt far more suited to their conversation. As was often the case, no one else was down there other than Geoffrey, who behaved as though it were his private chamber. Even at night, he preferred to sleep in his seat with his long nose hovering inches from a gilded page and a tall candle sinking into soup beside him.

In the deepest corner of that dusty maze, Merlin settled down with Puck to discuss the ins and outs of fairy magic.

"They have an ear for all tongues – so to speak – but none of their own. They speak in colourful images, mostly, or borrowed words for they are mimics, like a jackdaw, with much of that impertinent creature's manner as well."

"But I thought... You said _you_ were a will o' the wisp, sometimes." Merlin's puzzlement spilled out of him.

"Quite right. And am I not impertinent?" Robin gave a tiny smile that hinted at another jest; this one aimed squarely in his own direction.

"That's not what I... No, I don't think so; not really," Merlin told him stoutly.

"Kind of you to say so. Most would disagree, I fear. Your Gaius, for one."

Merlin's face turned red. "I never said..."

"You did not have to. Every jester... every _mimic_ learns how to read expressions. Gaius doubts me, as he should do. Very sensible of him. I heartily approve."

Merlin gave a short laugh, abandoned his query (which was going nowhere quickly thanks to Robin's skilful obfuscation) and returned to the problem at hand. "So then – if I speak to the wisps, they understand what I'm saying but they can only echo random words in return?" _Such as 'Emrys',_ he thought to himself, recalling that first uncanny greeting in the woods.

"In a nutshell. Theirs is a world of instinct and emotion. Humour, they adore."

"Like you."

"Like me; precisely. We are also deeply moved by courage," Robin told him seriously. Candlelight flickered in the depths of his eyes. The effect was eerie - and appropriate. "Sir Gwaine, for instance. Bold, mischievous, funny... he could almost be a wisp himself. They are drawn to him..."

"So I've noticed." Merlin chuckled. "And me?"

"They know your name. They wish to know _you_ better, I suspect. If I were you, I should indulge them."

The tickle of a new idea was making Merlin twitchy. "I could start with _one_ ," he suggested, testing his theory out loud. "Gwaine's new friend. Try to gain its trust, like he has."

"Perfect." The jester nodded. "Do you wish me to accompany you?"

"Might be tricky to explain," said Merlin. "I've got this, Robin. It's another good plan; I can feel it."

"Very well. Then I think I shall go and have a little chat with Gaius. Clear the air and clear my name," said Robin with a woeful look of wounded virtue that made Merlin laugh out loud.

"Good luck to both of us," he offered, rising to his feet.

Robin quirked a single eyebrow. "I suspect I'll need it more than you do."

-x0x-

Gwaine must have dozed off in front of his struggling campfire because the sound of thunder that startled him soon turned into the thumpety-thump of hooves approaching. _Friend_ _or_ _foe_ , he wondered, reaching for the sword that lay beside him on the ground. The world was dark by now and he could see nothing beyond the golden ring of his makeshift sanctuary, since the fire that kept him safe and warm had also disabled him far more effectively than his exhaustion or his aching limbs. If he wished to venture outwards, he would do so blindly – a grave disadvantage.

On the other hand, the approaching travellers could see _him_ perfectly in the double-dealing firelight and so Gwaine chose to risk a friendly greeting. "Ho there!" he hollered, pushing hard to make his voice carry above the wind and rain. At the same time, he clambered to his feet, thankful in no small way that Pest was at his shoulder and Fortunata close behind him. He flexed his fingers, then curled them around the hilt of his sword in a grip that was deceptively loose. _Stay calm,_ he told himself. _Keep breathing._

Breathing was _always_ the key.

"Ho there? Is that the only thing you have to say for yourself?" The voice was familiar, thankfully – and _not_ so thankfully, as Sir Leon stepped over the glowing threshold and Gwaine saw his face for the first time. Borrowed firelight had turned him into an avenging angel, clad in burnished armour and wearing his disappointment like a heavy cloak.

Brave as he was, the guilty knight shuddered. "Erm… It's good to see you?" he lied.

"Doubtful." Now it was Elyan's turn to step into the golden ring and make himself known. He clutched the reins of his horse, who pressed against him, nervous of the weather and the over-arching trees that moaned and rattled in distress. "I win," he added, turning his head and speaking to the final knight who lingered in the shadows.

"No you don't," said Percival mildly. "None of us would take your wager – remember that?"

"You knew!" Gwaine felt a little insulted. Was he so predictable, then?

"Of course. We thought you'd follow us." Percival loomed into view. His grin was a welcome sight. At least he wasn't angry. "We didn't know you'd already left. How did you know we'd head north?"

"Because your noble leader is predictable as well." Gwaine ventured a hopeful sideways glance in Leon's direction. No – still angry. "He wouldn't dream of taking the easy road, sending others into danger. This so-called storm is likely driving downwards from the north, says Arthur? North it is, then, for brave Sir Leon and his band of merry knights…"

"Not so merry," Elyan grumbled.

"More like soggy," Percival expanded.

"I should send you back to Camelot this instant," Leon sighed. The tension in his shoulders eased a little.

"Doubt I'd find it in the dark." With an easy shrug that did not match his mood, Gwaine gestured to the campfire that was more smoke than flame right now, but still a comfort. "Join me?"

Percival and Elyan did not need a second invitation. Tethering their horses next to Fortunata, who seemed delighted by the company, they threw themselves down on the ground beside the stone ring and poked at the flames with a couple of sticks, encouraging them to leap higher.

"This doesn't mean that you're forgiven," Leon warned.

"Understood."

"I could still send you back in the morning."

"You could try," Gwaine muttered rebelliously, letting the wind snatch his words away before they could reach Leon's ears. The curly-haired knight was no fool, however, choosing to read Gwaine's expression and his body language.

"You're not fit to travel. I'm surprised you made it this far."

"Fresh air. It's very invigorating." Gwaine took a deep breath and filled his lungs. Unfortunately, what he filled them with was cold, damp air. A choking fit ensued, which ruined the whole effect, but he recovered quickly and tried to look appealing. "Look, Gaius is going to kill me if I go back tomorrow. I may as well take my chances with the storm, don't you think?"

"That's logical." Percival had found Gwaine's supply of dried meat and was chewing on it happily.

"If we don't take him with us, he'll just end up on our tail," was Elyan's practical advice. Gwaine ducked his head to hide the guilt in his eyes, for that had indeed been his backup plan.

"Pest and I, we'll be no trouble," he pleaded. "Let me go with you. Being confined to the castle is torture. I can't stand it any longer. I need action, or I'll run mad. You understand that, surely?"

"If you feel at all unwell…"

The man was weakening. Gwaine seized his chance. "I'll fall back," he agreed, with his fingers crossed behind him. "Thank you, Leon. You won't regret this."

"Oh, I'm fairly sure I will," his friend replied, but he was smiling now. "In fact, I think I'd like to make a wager on it…"

"No takers," Elyan sang out cheerfully.


	22. Chapter 22

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Two**

 _ **"So when you're cold  
From the inside out  
And don't know what to do,  
Remember love and friendship,  
And warmth will come to you."  
(Stephen Cosgrove)**_

-x0x-

Arthur was pacing when Merlin returned to the royal chambers at last. There were several maps spread across the king's table and two in his hands as well, but he looked up as the manservant entered, and frowned to see him. "Merlin. You're dripping all over my floor. Picking herbs in the rain, were we?"

" _I_ wasn't. Don't tell me you were?" Merlin affected astonishment, even though he knew precisely why the king was mad at him.

Arthur gave him that look; the one he reserved for any remark far too foolish to merit an answer. "Not picking herbs. I see. It can't be the tavern again, surely?"

Merlin's disobliging brain refused to help him out. "Um..."

"Um? Is that all you have to say for a full day's absence from your duties? Where have you been, Merlin?"

"Duties!" He latched onto the word with relief. "For Gaius. When you dismissed me this morning..."

"Not for the whole day," Arthur grumbled quietly.

"...I went to the market place. Oh, and before that, I visited Gwaine. He's feeling much better, by the way." It wasn't a lie - and it led the conversation neatly round to a troubling matter. "Have _you_ seen him?"

"Of course I have. He came to the midday briefing. Wait – you were in the market place? Did you hear...?"

"Gwaine was at the briefing?" Merlin interrupted, earning a scowl of irritation this time. If Arthur wasn't careful, he would soon have run through his whole repertoire of grumpy expressions, leaving him bereft. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," said Arthur dryly. "You know Gwaine. He's hard to miss, and so is his bright new friend."

"You would think so," Merlin agreed, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Tell me, have you seen them _since_ then?" He tried to sound deceptively casual but there was no deceiving Arthur tonight, it seemed. "I've looked everywhere. Upstairs and downstairs. Inside and out..."

"Hence this…" Arthur waved his hand in a wide arc that encompassed Merlin's damp and dishevelled appearance.

"Hence this." Merlin nodded, dislodging a couple of droplets that had been clinging to the ends of his hair as though their little lives depended on it. "No one's seen him all afternoon."

"Maybe _he's_ in the tavern."

"I checked," said Merlin, flushing. "I didn't stay, if that's what you're going to suggest. But he's not even there. I'm worried. Gaius told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to leave the citadel."

"And of course, Gwaine always does exactly as he's told." Arthur thought for a moment. "I know where he's gone. It's obvious."

"Thank goodness!" Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

"He's gone with the other knights, to warn the outer villages about this dreadful storm that's meant to be approaching."

Silence.

"Oh," Merlin managed, at last. "Do you know… which direction?"

Arthur waved the maps that he was holding. Both were recent, and displayed an inky overview of his kingdom and its borders. "Rumour suggests the storm may come down from the north. Sir Leon himself is riding that way. Knowing Gwaine as we do…"

"He'll be heading right into the jaws of danger," Merlin groaned.

"That's a bit dramatic – it's just a storm, Merlin; no need to panic – but in essence I suspect you're right. I can't imagine Sir Leon would have let him tag along, so it's likely he's ventured out all by himself, and plans to meet up with the rest of them somewhere along the way, relying on his charm to win them over once they're far enough from Camelot."

That _did_ sound like Gwaine. "From what I've heard," said Merlin miserably, "this storm is going to be so much more than 'dreadful'. Gwaine's in no fit state to handle it."

"You think a gust of wind is going to blow him over." There was an unbefitting edge of sarcasm to the king's words.

"Yes, something like that," Merlin shot back, barely able to contain his anxiety, which threatened to burst out in the form of an angry tirade about irresponsible knights, and kings who thought they were _funny_. Arthur held up his hands in a rare, unspoken apology.

"Then you're going after him, of course."

"I am," said Merlin grimly.

Arthur nodded, rolling up the maps in a show of decisive finality. "Good. I'll go with you. Not because I'm worried," he added, with a half-smile. "I've decided it's my royal duty to investigate this threat for myself."

Merlin found it hard to express his gratitude. Instead, as the king had done, he took shelter in casual humour. "Maybe Robin could make a song about it," he suggested. "King Arthur versus the Storm."

"I like the sound of that," grinned Arthur, clearly glad to be forgiven. Setting down the maps, he began to tally on his fingers, his tone decisive as he issued a string of orders all demanding his servant's prompt attention. "You'll need to get ready. We leave at sunrise. Polish my armour; fetch my sword; pack my bags… oh, and tell the stable master to ready my horse. Now then; food…"

The list was endless but, for once, Merlin found that he was eager – even grateful - to obey.

-x0x-

Sunrise also found the four knights back on the muddy road, heading north in a zigzag fashion as they journeyed from cottage to farmstead, issuing their warning and offering sound advice on how to prepare for the storm. Most of the families they encountered made the wise decision to repair to Camelot, or at least the dubious shelter of the Darkling Woods, as swiftly as time and their means of travel would allow. The knights wished them godspeed and rode on.

Sir Gwaine would never admit it to his travelling companions, but he was struggling. All his own doing, of course, and that made it nobody else's business. Besides, he still had issues with sharing anything much deeper than the details of his supper. Sad, but true. If Merlin were here, then Merlin would notice. Merlin's sharp gaze took in far more than people gave him credit for, in Gwaine's opinion. Luckily, his best friend was back in Camelot, and the other knights were too preoccupied with the worsening weather to pay much attention to how Gwaine was holding his aching arm, or what particular shade of white his skin had become. Judging by his tiny distorted reflection in the metalwork that adorned his saddle, he had passed through 'paper' and 'snow' several hours ago, and was now moving into the grey-white realms of 'ghostly'. Not good. Not good at all.

Yet still he rode on.

"You're a blockhead. Read the signs," Gwaine berated himself, to no avail. A wild, unyielding form of courage had taken hold of him; not the rational kind but the courage that most men find at the bottom of a tankard or a jug of ale. It drove him on relentlessly. He could not turn back even if he wanted to – and part of him _did_ , with an undeniable yearning for his lumpy bed, and his messy room, and the disappointed face of Gaius looming over him. "Too late," he sighed. "Need to finish what I've started."

"What's that?" Percival pulled alongside Fortunata, guiding Arrow with a steady hand.

"Oh – nothing." Gwaine sat up as straight as he could. Smiling at his friend through the heavy rain was like trying to peer at himself in the depths of an old mirror – well-nigh impossible. "Where next?"

"Old Hubert and his brood were the last of the farmers on this particular route. Only one village out here on the Northern Plains. Fallow – do you know it?"

"I've been there, yes. Years ago; before I was a shiny knight of Camelot. Can't say I liked it. Fallow's not much of a village, really. It's not even on the map – well, no map that _I've_ seen. No one ever wants to go there and not one of the charming folk who live there ever wants to leave. How can I put it politely? The people are… close." He shuddered. " _Creepy_ close, if you ask me."

"You mean they don't like strangers."

Gwaine nodded. "They prefer to fend for themselves. Don't like lords or royalty interfering with their business. Mind, there was a time when I agreed with that." He gave a shamefaced grin. "Most of all, they hate paying taxes. Don't consider themselves part of Camelot, unless there's something in it for them. You've _really_ never been there?"

"I really haven't," said Percival.

"Well then, you're in for a treat," Gwaine informed his friend with gloomy gusto.

-x0x-

The Northern Plains were high and cold. The knights wrapped their cloaks around them and bent their necks to shield their faces, though it did them little good. The wind was sharper than a newly-whetted blade. There _was_ no hiding from it. It pierced through cloth and chain and plate with no compassion for their suffering. "Is th-this the s-storm, do you s-suppose?" Elyan grunted through chattering teeth.

"Feels like w-winter come early," Leon grumbled, just as a shower of rain turned into something far more solid and malicious. "Hailstones!" he called out, though the other knights could hardly have failed to notice.

"Ow!" cried Gwaine. "That's perfect. Did I ever tell you how much I hate b-bad weather?"

"Only repeatedly since we set off this morning," Percival observed. "But I've not been listening, so feel free to tell me again…"

"Very f-funny. _Ow!_ " A hailstone the size of an arrowhead bounced off his nose. "Now I'm mad."

"Can't your little friend do something? Warm us up?"

"He's hiding," Gwaine sighed, lifting the edge of his cloak to reveal the wisp, small and quiet beneath. "I'd say he's m-more of a fair-weather friend..."

"Now who's funny?" Percival was the only knight who seemed to be immune to the icy pellets bouncing off him. Maybe those muscles underneath his cloak gave him added protection against the cold - _like padding in a jerkin,_ mused Gwaine. He was just about to ask when Leon gave a shout that cheered them all, to varying degrees.

"There's Fallow, yonder!"

"Oh, good." Gwaine ran a hand through his sodden hair, lifting it out of his eyes. "Warm fires; warm people; warm welcome… no, wait, that's every _other_ village in the kingdom. Welcome, my friends, to the coldest place in Camelot. No joke."

"I'm sure they'll be grateful for the warning that we bring," said Leon stiffly.

"We'll see," Gwaine muttered, unconvinced. His grumpy manner had begun to infect the other knights. Even Percival wore a bleak expression on his face as he stared at the weathered grey stone and the dripping eaves of Fallow's humble dwellings. The fields on either side of the long road were barren and covered with a rime of ice, as though the goodness had been plucked right out of them with the final harvest of the year, leaving the icy cold to seal them tight against the living world, like tombs.

The rain eased off as they approached the southernmost end of the village, but no one seemed happier for it. Leon leapt down from his horse and scanned the area for signs of life. Percival's approach, meanwhile, was eminently practical.

"Anyone home?" he shouted.

Elyan gave a nervous laugh. "That's subtle."

"Worked though, didn't it?" Percival observed mildly, as a grizzled head poked out of a nearby window and a grizzled countenance surveyed the sodden knights.

"Oo sarskin?"

"I beg your pardon?" said Leon.

"He wants to know who we are. We can't all speak as prettily as you, Sir Ladylike." Gwaine slid down from Fortunata's back and gave the disembodied head a friendly wave. "Knights of Camelot, my friend. Come to bring you news of great importance. Maybe we can come inside and tell you?" he added plaintively, abandoning his formal manner when he saw the orange glow that framed the stranger; firelight within – and food, perhaps?"

"Tha wun be appnin. An yous not my fren." The old man seemed to have a problem with his teeth. He sucked them every time he spoke, which made his words almost indecipherable, never mind pretty. Or maybe he was drunk, thought Gwaine with sudden clarity, as he moved closer still and smelt the fog of alcohol that drifted through the open window, mingled with the scent of wood-smoke and the tang of sweat.

"Do you remember me? Gwaine is my name," he said. "I've been here before. Could you take us to Malcolm?"

"Malk's did."

Even Gwaine faltered this time, digging deeper for the old man's meaning. "What now?"

"Did, an' burried yon." He gave a random wave of his gnarled hand. "Yoos need dunkin."

"Clear as mud," Elyan grumbled, while Leon appeared quite affronted.

"Not at all." Percival nodded his thanks to the old man. "So Malcolm is dead. And Duncan is where?"

The old man gave a toothless grin as he stared up at the large knight. "Yoosno fool. I member thissun. Heesa wun fer the wimmin. Haddem onnis hookall rite, but nary stole a wun."

Now it was Gwaine who looked disgruntled, once he reached the end of the old man's tortuous speech. Percival only laughed. "That's him."

The man sniggered. "Dunkin's yonder." This time, his knobbly finger gave them a clear route to follow, straight through the village like an arrow, to the very centre. Percival thanked their reluctant guide once more and dropped down from his horse, as did Elyan. The four knights tramped along the tiny lane, feeling quite out of place, and extremely wary.

"At least we're sheltered from the wind," said Leon, trying to raise their spirits.

"Try telling that to my aching bones," Gwaine returned, from the rear of their little group. He was getting the brunt of it, as the cottages funnelled the blast towards them. Leon, at the front, was far more fortunate. "Change places, will you?" the weary knight continued, wrapping his cloak even tighter, and almost smothering Pest in the process.

Leon gave a chuckle. "No thank you, Sir Gwaine. I'm the leader. That means I lead. Which makes you…"

"I know," Gwaine snapped, his temper aroused. "You don't have to say it."

Wordlessly, Percival dropped back and positioned himself behind his friend. Leon nodded with satisfaction and Gwaine realised that the man's harsh words had been nothing more than a jest; a means of paying back the slight dealt to his own dignity, moments ago. _I'm slowing down,_ Gwaine sighed. _I should've caught that. My brain is turning to ice._

 _I should never have come._

As they reached the largest building in the village, its wooden door swung open and a moon-faced man appeared. His eyes were pale, like chips of crystal, and his cheeks were fever-bright, but his smile was surprisingly cheerful and his arms stretched out in a gesture that could not be mistaken.

"Sir Knights," he cried, with a beam of pleasure, as a dark-haired youth slipped past him and bobbed his own humble greeting. "You are most welcome to Fallow. Alfric will see to your horses; come in, come in!"


	23. Chapter 23

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Three**

" _ **I can hear your whisper and distant mutter. I can smell your damp on the breeze and in the sky I see the halo of your violence. Storm, I know you are coming."  
(Robert Fanney)**_

-x0x-

It was the ever-resilient Percival who stayed outside to help Alfric with the horses. The rest of the knights followed Duncan indoors with undisguised relief. Gwaine clutched at the doorframe as he passed and, finding it nice and solid, lingered for a moment as he tried to cope with the sudden transition from freezing cold to toasty warm. The wind still howled at his back, while his cheeks felt almost as though they were melting in the heat that rolled through Duncan's cottage in waves – a very peculiar sensation.

"This place is even hotter than a smithy," Elyan muttered. And yet their host was shivering. Gwaine shut the door and sidled along the wall instead, keeping in the background as his legs turned to jelly. Soon enough, he was going to be a puddle on the floor. He eyed a nearby stool but did not sit. He was a knight, after all, and a knight stood his ground.

There was barely room for all of them inside the cottage, which was snug to say the least and, now that the heavy wooden door was closed, tightly sealed against the wind. Every available space was crammed with simple yet appealing items of furniture, and every chair, or chest, or bed – not to mention the floor itself – was heaped over with rugs or woollen blankets, lending the whole room a nest-like quality that should have been extremely cosy. Instead, the atmosphere was almost overpowering.

Gwaine dragged a surreptitious hand across his brow. When he saw Elyan following suit, he felt secretly relieved. If a _blacksmith_ couldn't handle it…

Even Leon looked a little rosy, as he stared at Duncan in the half-light. There was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "I know you," he remarked suddenly, much to Gwaine's surprise. "Don't I?"

"You have a keen eye." The man bowed his head briefly.

"For faces, yes I do. You hail from Camelot, unless I'm very much mistaken."

Gwaine (and everyone else, no doubt) could almost hear the unspoken comment that would have followed this remark, were Sir Leon not quite so polite: _Why on earth would you choose to live here?_

"You were a baker," Leon continued, and he tilted his head as though sniffing the air. "I recall the scent of your market stall in the early morning, when I was a younger man and my duty was to patrol the lower town. You made my mouth water on a daily basis."

"Delighted to hear it! And, of course, I'm still a baker. No other life would suit me half as well. You could say there's yeast in my blood, sirs. How else do you think I made my mark here? Got the people to accept me? Most folk listen to their stomach. If it's happy, so are they."

"That's true enough." Elyan grinned. "Wouldn't you say so, Gwaine?"

"Ha ha." Gwaine's own stomach gave a timely growl. "Feels like _I'm_ baking right now," he declared. Leon frowned at him, yet he blundered on. "Is it always so hot in here?"

"You could wait outside," Leon told him pointedly.

The affable Duncan did not seem to be offended by Gwaine's forthright manner. "Yes, I'm afraid it is. My neighbours are constantly remarking upon it. Trouble is, I'm not a well man these days, Sir Knight. I feel the cold intensely." He gestured towards the rear of the cottage, where there was a second door. "I built the bake house up against the back wall, so the heat serves a double purpose. Even in the summer months, I need it. In the winter…" He shivered again. "I know that look. You're longing to ask why I moved to such a desolate place. The answer is simple. I fell in love."

Simple indeed. No other explanation was required. Gwaine gave a short nod of understanding. "Then, Sir Baker, you're a lucky fellow. It's not everyone who finds their heart's desire." As he spoke, he unfastened his cloak, which was so heavy with rainwater that it slipped from his single-handed grasp and dropped to the floor with a dull wet thud.

"Whatever is _that_?" cried the baker, pointing.

Gwaine looked down and gave a shy grin. The wisp was hovering near his ankles, confused by its new surroundings. "That would be Pest. He's… a friend of mine."

"King Arthur has no fear of magic? I though Uther's ban remained."

"It does," said Leon stiffly. "Magic killed his father."

"Not so. I think you'll find it was a knife." Gwaine could not resist the interruption. His companion could be such a stick-in-the-mud sometimes. "As I understand it, magic tried to _save_ old Uther."

"Show some respect, _Sir_ Gwaine." Leon was getting a little heated. Perhaps the temperature in the cottage was affecting his self-control. Gwaine found this rather intriguing and chose, somewhat rashly, to continue.

"For Uther? Why should I? He was never _my_ king. _I_ would never stoop so low."

Elyan stepped between them with a look of deep concern upon his face. "Time and place…" he muttered.

With a terse nod, Leon held up his hands in a show of temporary resignation but he had a glint in his eye that warned of stern words later. Gwaine tried very hard not to care. Instead, he stared at the floor, dark and brooding. He did not know exactly why he felt so angry. There was a strange, buzzing tension in the air, like the deep breath nature always holds before a thunderstorm…

 _Oh._

"Leon," he said in a low voice. "I apologise."

His friend looked confused, and then relieved. "As do I," he agreed. "The heat…"

"The _weather_ ," Gwaine said urgently. Almost as though he had summoned it himself with his own words, there came an ominous rumble from beyond the outer wall, so deep that he could actually feel it in his gut.

Duncan stared from one anxious face to another, searching for a revelation. "Good Sir Knights, I think it's time to tell me why you journeyed here – and why the sound of thunder has made you all so twitchy."

Before they could answer, the door flew open. Percival stood outside, with Alfric close behind him, and he was beckoning them all with deep concern. "Take a look at the northern sky. It's blacker than Gwaine's attempt at a campfire stew."

"Hey!" the knight protested, though he could tell that his friend was only using humour as a shield against their fear. Outside, the noon light was tinged with a sullen yellow haze that made everything feel rather sickly. The storm… Gwaine swallowed. The storm on the horizon was a roiling beast, far worse than any cloud-dragon his own pitiful imagination could have conjured. It was dark and wild and angry. It was also heading straight towards the village – but how soon would it reach them?

Once more, thunder split the heavens and, as one, they clapped their hands across their ears. Gwaine began a steady count; an old trick learned on his travels. The flash came far too quickly in a sheet of light that filled their world for just an instant and then vanished, leaving them dazzled and reeling, with bright spots before their eyes, like angry wisps that would not go away.

Absolute noise became absolute silence. Leon was the first to break the spell. "This is very bad."

"I've never seen its equal," Elyan gasped, still blinking. A scurry of dirt spun round his feet as the wind began to rise again, from the ground upwards, lifting their cloaks and raising their hair.

Gwaine said nothing. His sense of foreboding was far too strong. Mere words could never express what he knew in his heart to be true. This was no storm but a monster come to raze the village to the ground, and claw its way onward through the open sky to the land beyond the Plains – and Camelot.

The crazy old man in the marketplace had spoken the truth.

Frightened heads began to poke through doorways. Somewhere, a baby was crying. Behind Duncan's cottage, Gwaine's sharp ears could hear the sound of panicking horses. Down the lane, a little herd of goats had broken free of their pen and were scampering out of the village as fast as their sturdy legs could carry them, pressing together for comfort and safety. Their instinct was the one to follow, in Gwaine's opinion. "We have to leave here," he said in a tone he seldom used; a tone that those who knew him would never dare to disobey. "All of us."

Duncan, who was less discerning, stumbled backwards, shaking his head in horror. "No! We have to shut the door against the storm and trust our homes to shelter us."

"And if they don't?" said Percival. Alfric seemed to be quite taken with the large knight and hung on his every word, his mouth open and his eyes wide with horrified fascination. "Are there caves near here? A stronghold of any kind; even a broken one? Somewhere we could reach before it's too late?"

"Nothing but hills and open skies, as far as the eye can see." Duncan kept on shaking his head. Clearly, he had convinced himself – but a crowd was beginning to gather around them, drawn by the knights and their bright red cloaks; fear seeking authority where once it would have been shunned.

"There's Hunter's Wood," said a helpful old woman.

"Hunter's Nothing," a harsh voice retorted. "May as well crouch in a field of corn."

"What about the ruins of Idirsholas?" a young man suggested eagerly, backed by a hopeful chorus.

"Would you ride _into_ the storm?" cried Elyan, though they did not choose to heed him and began to talk amongst themselves, no doubt forming some ill-advised plan of their own.

Exasperated by their bickering, Sir Leon drew his sword in one skilful movement and raised it above his head, not to use, but to draw their attention. His aspect was grave and his bearing was noble. Even Gwaine was impressed, as Leon's words rang out above the rising wind. "No more talking. Look at the sky, if you doubt us. There _is_ no time for discussion. Sir Gwaine speaks the truth. We're leaving – all of us. Now."

-x0x-

 **A/N: Apologies for the delay!**

 **More from Arthur and Merlin in the next chapter...**

 **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed or followed or favourited recently. Your support is so encouraging and your reviews are great fun to read!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Four**

" _ **A king is he that can hold his own or else his title is vain."**_

 _ **(J.R.R. Tolkien)**_

-x0x-

Merlin's life was full of choices. Some, he considered deeply. Some were hasty. Some, he considered and then chose the hasty solution after all. Take his current wild decision to gallop off in search of Gwaine - an extremely capable _knight_ , for goodness sake, with extremely capable knightly friends. Add to that the fact that Arthur had cheerfully decided to accompany him. Add to _that_ the fact that they were probably riding into the worst storm Camelot had ever experienced...

Oh dear.

In the questionable light of dawn, Merlin's state of mind had shifted from rosy optimism to sickening worry. Yet still he had gone through the motions; preparing the horses, preparing the king, preparing their baggage... all the while keeping an eye out for Robin, whose imagined look of deep reproach he could not bear to face in person.

On the road, he was safe enough from the jester's reaction, but guilt was a sneaky foe and Robin's eloquent voice remained as one half of a mental discussion that had trapped Merlin's brain in a constant loop. The other half, bizarrely, sounded just like Gwen, whose clarity of thought he had always admired. In other words, magic squared off against common sense, and the ceaseless argument that tortured Merlin as he rode along silently behind the king, went something like this:

"I came to save the kingdom, not to lose its only hope. Merlin, you must stay in Camelot and find a way to stop the storm. Meeting it out in the wild like this, for the sake of one man who may or may not be in trouble, is folly far greater than any of my misdeeds."

"That one man is Merlin's friend."

"And friendship is an admirable quality, but Gwaine himself would not condone this foolish act."

"Maybe not, but he would understand it, and be grateful. You haven't been in Camelot for long, so you don't know him well enough to see that – and clearly you don't know Merlin either. He would never forgive himself if he just sat around the castle… oh! Not _'sat'_ ; I don't mean that; he never sits around… But really, he can't just stay at home and hope for the best when he believes there may be something he could do."

"Yes," said The-Voice-That-Sounded-Just-Like-Robin. "He could die. And so could Arthur."

"Or he could save his friend and learn something useful into the bargain."

"Is the goblet _always_ half full for you, I wonder?"

"That doesn't matter right now. The real question is, how does _Merlin_ see the goblet…?"

And so the conversation spun on its axis and started all over again – until another voice intruded, cultured and impatient, with a hint of concern that was obvious to anyone who knew Arthur well enough.

"Merlin. You're awfully quiet. I don't think you've spoken a word since we left. Are you sickening for something? Or has all this damp weather caused your jaw to seize up at last?"

The glare that Merlin offered in return was half-hearted, since he was secretly grateful for the distraction. "I was thinking."

"Will wonders never cease?" the king said with a grin. "Care to share these thoughts of yours?"

"Not really." Not at all, in fact. Merlin changed the subject quickly. "Hey, have you noticed? We're being followed…"

Sure enough, a small group of wisps had left the lower town just behind them and were currently floating above the road with a nonchalant air that was fooling no one. Their presence was strangely comforting to Merlin.

Arthur turned in his saddle and gave a snort of mock-surprise. "Really?"

"Sorry; I forgot. You're the greatest hunter Camelot has ever known. Nothing escapes your eagle eye."

"Well, I'm glad you've finally realised that." Some of the humour bled from Arthur's voice as he continued. "What do you suppose they want?"

"An adventure?" Merlin suggested hopefully. Deep down, he suspected Robin. Had the jester sent the wisps to keep an eye on him, like tiny glowing spies?

'An adventure. Is that what we're calling it?" Arthur scrubbed his wet face with the palm of his hand. "Feels more like drowning on dry land."

"Nothing dry about _this_ land," Merlin grumbled.

"Of course not. It's just a saying, Merlin."

" _You_ said it. That doesn't make it a saying, oh wise one."

The king shook his head with an air of bewilderment. "Are you being difficult on purpose, or are you really that obtuse?" When Merlin smirked at him, he sighed. "Oh, I see. Another fine example of your sparkling wit. Consider me slightly amused."

That was quite a result, from Merlin's perspective, and his spirits began to lift. He took in a deep breath of the damp, rain-infested air, and studied the world around him. That was a mistake. Though it was not yet midday, the sky was dark and heavy with foreboding. Bare trees lined their way on either side, a host of sycamores set back from the road like a wary crowd of onlookers who did not care to come any closer. They bowed as the king and his servant passed by, their grey, sodden branches bent and dripping. Mouldering at their feet were ugly piles of dead leaves, their fiery autumn hues long since departed, and winged seeds whose flight to freedom had been brief and disappointing. Further ahead, on the left, the ground dipped away from them, taking the line of unhappy trees with it into a narrow gulley that was fast becoming a river. Water swirled around their trunks. They were drowning on dry land, just as Arthur had described. Merlin shuddered; his mood sinking low again, like the trees.

"Look," said Arthur, pointing.

Merlin followed the line of his finger and squinted. Arthur's vision _was_ rather good, he admitted to himself ruefully. The figures lurking up ahead could easily have been mistaken for a couple of saplings or even a trick the poor light had chosen to play on unsuspecting eyes.

"Trouble?" he wondered.

"More like refugees. A sign that our knights have already been this way. These good people must be making their way to Camelot."

Merlin hoped that Arthur's optimistic explanation was the right one. "And if they're not? Good people, I mean?"

Arthur patted his sword and gave a grim smile. "Do you really need to ask?"

They travelled onwards, but now their silence was wary and their gaze was fixed upon the little group ahead of them. As they drew nearer, it was clear to see that these really were refugees from some farmstead or village – but trouble was waiting there too. The tallest fellow flagged them down as soon as Merlin and Arthur drew close enough. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed and dour of mood. His companion was a stout man with flame-red hair and unseemly stubble that lined both his chin and his bloated neck. Beside them, an old woman stood with her arms around a young girl in a worn out cloak. Both the woman and the girl stared at the ground without ceasing, their demeanour as downtrodden as the mud beneath their feet. They did not even glance up when the king leapt down from his steed, surrounding by swirling lights, like some kind of legend brought to life before them.

"Do you need assistance?" Arthur asked politely.

"What do _you_ think?" Stubble Neck was every bit as grumpy as his friend.

Arthur flinched, but did not let his anger rule his tongue. " _I_ think this unsettled weather has us all on edge – don't you agree? Tell me your problem, _friend_ , and we will aid you if we can."

By way of a grudging explanation, the dark-haired man jerked his thumb sideways, pointing to the side of the road. A double line of furrows ran away from them, ploughing through the mulch to the edge of the gulley and beyond. Merlin nudged his horse towards the precipice and glanced downwards, past broken branches and a fallen tree to where a large hand cart lay upside down near the base of the hill, its load scattered everywhere. Its wheels were spinning sadly in the falling rain. Water swirled below it, making greedy, sucking noises like a slobbering monster, waiting for its prey to fall.

"Your possessions?" Merlin said, with sympathy.

"And my brother," snapped the dark-haired man. "He's trapped beneath the cart. _Her_ father's somewhere down there too." He nodded at the young girl, who looked up at last. Her face was pale and her eyes were pleading. She fixed her gaze upon Arthur. He must have seemed like gleaming hope personified, for all at once she could not bear to look away, even when the old woman nudged her sharply. "So yes, I need help," the man continued, sneaking a glance at his stout companion. "Simon here is too afraid. Thinks he'll drown in that puddle, the idiot."

"Please," the child murmured. Her voice was husky. It broke Merlin's heart. Meanwhile, Arthur's jaw grew rigid.

"I'll go down there," he said, showing little sign of the trepidation he must have been feeling.

"Me too," said Merlin, at once.

Arthur shook his head. "No, Merlin. I need you up here... to stay with the horses." _Something else is wrong,_ his blue eyes telegraphed, even as he offered the lame excuse. Merlin nodded. He could feel it too.

-x0x-

They had left the citadel well-supplied for their mission - or so Arthur had believed. Unfortunately, rope turned out to be one of the few things they had left behind. "Excellent forward thinking, _Merlin,_ " he chided his servant, scowling.

"Yes – because obviously I should have guessed that we'd be scaling muddy hillsides in the pouring rain."

"We?" said Arthur pointedly, choosing to ignore the fact that Merlin had offered to join him. It was, after all, far more satisfying to vent his frustration this way, and the guilt he felt was minimal.

"Alright, _you_. _You're_ the hero. Be careful down there," Merlin added suddenly. His face was troubled and he kept on glancing over Arthur's shoulder to the edge of the gulley.

"Thanks," said the dour man roughly, forcing his way between them. "I will."

Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing in the face of such blistering rudeness. So far, he had kept his true identity a secret. For all these people knew, he was a simple knight, travelling north with his loyal retainer. He could not have said why he felt the need to be so secretive – but the instinct was a strong one, and he obeyed it without question.

"Your cloak's inside out, by the way." Simon, the portly fellow, seemed much happier now that his own neck was not on the line. "Did you know?"

"Yes, I did. Shall we do this?" Arthur answered shortly. No more delay. He was tired of conversation. The long, steep hillside lay before him and he studied it carefully, plotting the safest route to the broken cart. There was no sign of either injured man. "We'll head for that tree first," he suggested, pointing downwards for the benefit of his fellow-rescuer. "If we should slip, the trunk will break our fall."

"Or break our necks," the dour man grumbled, but he nodded all the same. "Fine by me. After you."

Arthur took a deep breath and stepped over the edge of the gulley. Clambering down through the mulch, he released a pungent odour that threatened to overwhelm him. Dead leaves, drenched and rotting. Thick, loamy earth. The peculiar smell of old wood that was more of a taste in the back of his throat than a scent. Arthur gagged and swallowed.

"Nasty, ain't it?" was the dour man's eloquent opinion. "Smells like Simon's feet." His grin was unexpected, and alarming.

 _You're a wolf,_ Arthur told him silently. _A leering, panting wolf; and I'm in trouble._ He was glad to feel the weight of his sword hanging down by his side in its scabbard. The Wolf did not appear to have a weapon – but Arthur knew better than to trust appearances. He slowed his pace by pretending to falter, allowing the man to pass him by. Now he was in the rear; a much safer tactical position. As the Wolf came to rest by the sycamore tree, Arthur slid down to join him, noting as he did so that the other man showed little sign of exertion. If anything, he seemed invigorated by the challenge.

Down below, someone was moaning quietly. Now that they were closer, they could hear it.

Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword, a gesture that gave him comfort. "Next stage," he said to the Wolf. "See that ash…?"

They slipped and slithered from tree to tree, ultimately coming to rest where the broken branches of a juvenile sycamore marked the final resting place of the broken cart, and the end of their downward journey. Arthur was breathing heavily by now, and covered in mud right up to his knees. The Wolf was also winded, which made the king feel better. The moans were louder here, and pitiful.

"Cal," the Wolf shouted. "That you?"

"T-T-Tom?" The moan became a thin wail. "Get me out of here! I'm stuck in the mud. An' I'm bleeding!"

As Tom bent to peer beneath the upturned cart, assessing the state of his brother, Arthur scouted around for the other man; the young girl's father. Presently, he spotted a boot sticking through a weedy bush, at the very edge of the rising water. Further examination led to the discovery of a raggedy leg attached to that boot, and a body attached to the leg.

The man's head was under the water. The poor girl's father was dead.

"Unfortunate, that," said a voice behind him. There was no true sense of sorrow in the words. Arthur turned to look up at the Wolf.

"It is indeed," he said gravely. "Did you know him well?"

"Not at all." Tom shrugged. There was a nasty gleam in his eye. "See, we came across this sad little family on the road, dragging all their possessions; alone… unprotected… a fine chance for profit."

"You're thieves." Arthur tried to draw his sword – but the Wolf had long anticipated _that_ move and threw himself bodily upon the king, wrestling him to the ground before he could free his weapon. Arthur's head snapped backwards and his vision doubled, briefly. The scent of grime and sweat was in his nostrils, and a filthy hand was clamped over his mouth.

Arthur bit the man's fingers.

The Wolf howled, but did not release him entirely. Grappling together, they rolled sideways. Now Arthur's boots were in the water; now it was the Wolf who kicked and splashed about. "This is… crazy!" the king spluttered, when he could catch his breath. "Your brother…"

"Is stuck, that's all. No bones broken. I'll get to him presently. In the meantime, I'll take that fine sword of yours, my 'friend', and your cloak, and those nice leather boots… Not to mention your horses, your servant and all your supplies. You won't need 'em where you're going."

Arthur spat. "And where is that?"

"For a swim," his foe declared, and rolled them both right into the river.

Brown, muddy water closed over Arthur's head. The Wolf was heavy, and straddled him, squeezing his throat with brutal force. Try as he might, he could not free himself, and now his world was shrinking into a bubble of pain and choking blackness. The river was freezing; its icy touch invasive. Arthur's final hope was his sword, forgotten at last by the Wolf. But his own hands were numb and it took a monumental force of will to make his fingers close around the hilt that they could barely feel. He drew it slowly, loath to wake the other man's suspicion. His thoughts were sluggish by now, and he could not hold his breath much longer; not with that terrible pressure around his throat. The blade slid through the water. Arthur summoned up one final burst of strength…

As the sword drove into the Wolf, Arthur's enemy gave a gurgle of dismay. Blood dripped from his mouth, unfurling as it stained the water red between them. His body grew limp. It was so heavy that it pinned the king beneath the surface. _Murdered by a dead man,_ was Arthur's final, delirious thought before he blacked out entirely.

The very last thing he saw was a pair of scruffy boots, caked in mud, splashing into the river beside him…

-x0x-

 **A/N: Apologies for the late update. As Gandalf said to Frodo, 'I was... delayed.' Unavoidable, but here we are at last and I hope the wait was worth it! I know I also owe some reviews to other people, so I'll be catching up with that very soon as well.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Five**

" _ **It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."  
(J.K. Rowling)**_

-x0x-

"That was close," Merlin said with feeling.

Arthur opened his eyes. He was lying on the muddy bank once more; his faithful servant crouching beside him. The rain still fell and the sky was still grey. The trees still shivered overhead, yet nothing felt the same. "Close," he murmured. "Yes. I killed him, Merlin." He never got used to taking a life, though he usually hid it much better than this. The sudden attack had unnerved him.

"And a good job too. I'd rather be stuck with a royal prat than an ugly brute like that." Merlin's chuckle was rather too high. Relief was the cause of his rambling.

Raising himself on his elbows, Arthur let the insult slide for once. "Thanks – I think."

"For the compliment? Or for saving your life?"

"I saved my own life, _thank_ you, Merlin." Arthur responded more vigorously.

"You stabbed him, certainly. And a fat lot of good that did you." Merlin raised his eyebrows. "If I hadn't come along…"

 _But you did,_ thought Arthur. _Somehow, you always do._ He took a good look at his servant. Merlin was plastered in mud from top to toe, as though he had tumbled down the hill head first, instead of taking a more conventional route. There was a halo of wisps around him and his eyes were bright enough but his face, beneath the streaks of grime, was white and he moved with a restless energy that made Arthur feel quite sluggish in comparison. _Though I did nearly drown,_ he excused himself generously.

Something else. There was something else he should have been asking about.

"Why are you screwing up your face like that?" Merlin dropped his voice to a whisper, full of sympathy. "Does your head hurt?"

"Of course not. I'm thinking…" Arthur froze. Too late to take the words back now.

"Will wonders never cease?" his friend retorted instantly, challenging Arthur with his clear eyes. _Time to get up now,_ they said. _Time to stop lying down on the job._

Or maybe that was just the conscience of a king.

He clambered to his feet with far less dignity than he would have hoped for – but, after all, the ground _was_ muddy and he was soaked to the skin through his cold wet armour and rain-heavy jerkin. Merlin continued to watch him, saying little but radiating concern. When he reached out to help, Arthur brushed away the proffered hand. "I can manage. Where's my sword?" He looked around.

Merlin bit his lip. "Over there," he said quietly, pointing. "Shall I fetch it for you?"

In the shallow water lay the Wolf, face down and fearsome no longer but stone dead, with the tip of Arthur's best blade poking through him still. One or two wisps bumbled over to him, full of curiosity, and hovered over his floating body with interest. "No," the king said firmly, setting his jaw. "You've done enough. That's my responsibility."

He waded back into the swirling flood and bent to retrieve his weapon, like a good knight should. Pain flashed through his skull; shards of splintered glass that glittered behind his eyes and made him wince. He did not cry out but straightened up as swiftly as he could, sword in hand, red water swirling around his knees.

Then he saw the second body and, with the violent chill of a returning nightmare, he remembered everything.

"That's the girl's father," he told Merlin dully.

"I thought as much." Merlin's first priority had been his king but now he moved across and crouched down beside the poor man, lifting his head from the water with a gentle hand and laying it carefully on the dark earth. "Should we carry him up to them?"

Arthur stared up at the slippery slope. "I'm not sure we'd make it." He frowned. "Besides, there's another matter to consider. Another man down here, alive…" Deep in his heart, a battle was raging. He felt no compassion, and yet, as a knight, he knew his duty. "We need to free him, Merlin. He's still trapped."

The look on Merlin's face showed that his thoughts were equally conflicted but he bowed his head in acquiescence. Arthur took off his wet cloak and laid it respectfully over the man's body; an act which clearly moved his servant. "It's the best I can do," he explained, even though there was no need. Even the wisps seemed to dull their light in silent mourning. The floating corpse of the Wolf was abandoned without a backward glance, as the two men turned and ploughed their way through the mud and the jumble of scattered belongings to the upturned cart and the stranger hidden beneath it.

-x0x-

"I'm sorry - you want me to _what_?"

Gwaine's angry voice rose above the raging of the wind. His dark brows pressed together over his gleaming eyes, narrowing the focus of their furious gaze. His good arm searched for another to cross, but had to settle in the end for clenching by the knight's side. Pest burned overhead, reflecting Gwaine's mood in vivid colours; amber, red and yellow.

Meanwhile, Leon gave a tight-lipped smile that hinted he would not be swayed by any show of temper.

"You're going to ride in the cart," he explained once again, in the mildest of tones. He knew Gwaine well by now – and Gwaine knew him too.

 _I could bluster all day long, like this storm, and still make no impression._ Yet how could he let himself down by capitulating meekly? Did he not have a certain image to uphold? With half a grin that Leon could not fail to see, Gwaine continued his rant, though the rage had gone out of it finally. "Fortunata won't let any other fool ride her."

" _This_ fool won't be riding her either. Look at you, Gwaine. You can barely stand up, never mind ride a horse in a howling gale. Don't think I haven't noticed. One sharp gust of wind and you'll be over. What if no one sees it happen?" He shook his head with regret. "Gaius will have my head if I don't bring you back."

"He'll have mine when you do," said Gwaine. "Doesn't matter. Look, I know you mean well, Leon. And I spoke out of turn. For that, I'm sorry. But to ride home in a _cart_ , like an old man or an invalid…"

"You _are_ an invalid." Tiring of their argument, Leon glanced up at the dark sky; not for the first time, and not without a shiver of dismay. "We're running out of time, Gwaine. Do as I say, or don't. Your life is in your own hands. If you choose to gamble it away for the sake of pride and dignity, that's your affair. A true knight knows when to obey. Are you truly a knight, _Sir_ Gwaine, or is this all a game to you; a way to occupy your time until the next bright thing comes along to attract your attention?"

His fear lent sharpness to his words. That sharpness hurt Gwaine, though he would never confess it, but it also made him feel a flash of guilt that he knew to be well-deserved. "I'm a knight. A true knight. You shouldn't doubt me, Leon." He turned and stared at the cart filled with villagers, one of several that had been pressed into service. Speed was of the essence, and he was being selfish. "They look scared. Think I'll go and cheer them up, then."

"You do that." Leon said no more, but nodded solemnly and patted Gwaine's good arm with a gloved hand to show his approval.

-x0x-

The unlucky thief had fallen silent for a while – alarmed, no doubt, by the sound of struggling in the water, and by Merlin's unexpected arrival – but when he heard footsteps approaching at last, he renewed his pitiful cries for help. "Where's Tom?" he whined. "An' Simon? Who's that, now?"

Merlin stuck his head through a gap between the churned up mud and the broken flatbed of the cart. The thief was far less ugly than his two companions but just as unappealing in his manner. "Get me out of here," he insisted. "Stop your starin', crow-head. Where's Tom, I say? He promised not to leave me."

"I'm afraid he broke that promise," Merlin offered sagely. "He's left you _all_ alone. With the two of us, in fact. Merlin – that's me – and Arthur Pendragon, the High King of Camelot. Maybe you've heard of him?"

Watching the foul man's reaction was almost a pleasure. "An' Simon?" he managed to gasp out, his eyes wide. He tried to pull backwards, away from Merlin's placid face, but he was well and truly stuck fast in the mud, with barely enough room to move his arms around, let alone to extricate himself.

Merlin grinned, just as Arthur bent down to join him. "Ah yes, Simon," the king said with sudden interest. "That's a very good question. Merlin?"

"Simon… Si….mon. Hmmm. Sounds familiar. Wait – I'll get it in a minute…" Merlin dragged the name out, playing with it as though he was trying to coax back a memory. Then he laughed. "Kidding. He won't be joining us either, I'm afraid."

The thief looked sick. Arthur, meanwhile, could barely contain his curiosity. "Why not?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

" _Mer_ lin!"

"Oh, very well." He held up his hands. "I'm sorry to say that our charming new friend found himself stuck between a rock and an angry old woman."

"He's dead?" cried the thief.

"Try unconscious," Merlin said smugly. "It happened right after you left, Arthur. Simon had a knife, you see. He tried to… well, I think he thought I was a threat to him. He never stopped to look behind him." Even Merlin had been taken aback by the chain of events. He had planned to use his magic surreptitiously and drop a tree branch down on Stubble Neck's ugly head – a classic move, but still a good one. Before he could do so, the woman had shoved her captor with both hands, and he had fallen hard against a nearby rock, stunning himself. Job done; no magic needed.

"So – correct me if I'm wrong - what you're telling me," Arthur surmised, "is that you had to be rescued by a little old lady. _That's_ not embarrassing. Not in the slightest."

"Hey! Courage comes in all shapes and sizes. And at least I know how to be grateful – unlike some." First, Merlin had removed Simon's belt and lashed it around his wrists, several times, very tightly - just in case. Then he had thanked the old woman profusely.

"Ha ha." The king made no effort to hide his amusement. "Remind me to tell Robin about your heroic encounter. I'm sure he could create an epic verse about it."

"I'm sure he could. Unless he'd rather sing about the way I rescued you from a watery grave…"

" _I'm_ sorry," Arthur cut in suddenly, eager to change the course of the conversation for some reason. "Where are my manners? Here we are, having a lovely chat about poetry and courage, while this _poor_ honest fellow is trapped right in front of us, waiting to be rescued." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Very remiss of us," Merlin agreed, secretly proud of his victory.

The thief swallowed.

"You _are_ goin' to rescue me, aren't you?" he said with a hasty revision of his former belligerent attitude.

"Are we?" said Merlin, to Arthur.

The king made a show of considering. " _Should_ we?" he countered, purely for the benefit of the thief. Merlin knew that Arthur had already made up his mind. "I mean, really; he did try to rob these good people. And now the girl's father is dead…"

"That was Tom! That weren't me! He's a vicious man… _was_ a vicious man, my brother. I'm half-glad he's dead, so I am. I almost broke my own neck when the cart went over. Tom, he didn't care. Simon neither. If you free me now…" His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a calculating tone. "If you free me, I'll help 'em."

"Help yourself, more like." Merlin's accusation was stern.

"No, sir, truly! Please believe me. I'll do anything…"

"Well," Arthur said, "I can't argue with that." He slid the tip of his sword towards the man's face, narrowly missing his nose. "It's a promise, then?"

"Yes," the thief said fervently. "See this wet?" He licked his finger and made a vague, cramped attempt to hold it up. "See this dry. Strike me dead if I lie."

" _That's_ a promise." Arthur pulled back and jumped to his feet. "Merlin. Think you can lift this cart while I pull him out of the mud?"

Clambering – or rather, squelching – to his feet, Merlin gaped at the king. "Are you serious?" Not without magic; and _that_ wasn't happening.

"No." Arthur laughed and slapped him on the back, just a little too hard. "Of course I'm not. Merlin, you have the strength of a daisy chain, and no sense of humour at all. _I'll_ lift the cart. You can dig out our new best friend. If you're up to it, of course…?"

 _One day,_ the warlock thought, as he dropped back down onto his knees in the mud; _one day I'll show him just how strong I really am. And the look on his face will be priceless._


	26. Chapter 26

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Six**

" _ **The rain to the wind said,  
You push and I'll pelt."  
(Robert Frost)**_

-x0x-

Gwaine's flamboyant leap onto the back of the cart turned into a desperate scramble when his foot slipped in the mud at the last moment. He almost banged his chin on the wooden flatbed but managed to save himself just in time. Like a seal, he flopped and slithered his way forward, until a friendly pair of arms reached out to help him.

"You riding with us, then?"

"Escort." Gwaine lied through his teeth, trying to cling to the last shreds of his dignity. In truth, he was a wreck. His clothes were sodden, his bandages were slowly unravelling beneath his shirt, his boots were full of water and his long hair was plastered to his head.

"Ah." His rescuer's voice came out of a jumble of blanket layers, and sounded suspiciously like Duncan. "I feel safer already."

Taken aback, Gwaine tried to decide whether or not the affable baker was teasing him. In the end, he gave up and changed the subject. "Thanks for the lift." He raised his bandaged arm as far as he was able, trying not to groan. "War wound. Still painful." Though he spoke loudly, the rain was so intense by now that conversation was a struggle.

"I can imagine." Duncan lowered the shawl that masked his face and blinked at Gwaine. "Want to tell me the story? It'll pass the time."

Gwaine felt a twinge of fear. The memory was still too close, it seemed. He breathed in sharply, noting as he did so that the wet cart smelled distinctly of old root vegetables. He covered his shameful reaction with false cheer. "There are merrier topics, my friend." He nodded to the other passengers, seven in total, who huddled together in shared misery. They ranged from a babe in arms to a toothless old crone who looked more like a witch than he cared to consider. "Know what I mean?"

To his great relief, Duncan nodded silently.

The sound of hooves and heavy breathing heralded a new arrival. "Comfortable?" said a familiar voice behind them. At long last, the little train of villagers and knights was manoeuvring itself into some kind of order, ready to depart. Gwaine was secretly glad to see that Percival had chosen – or been assigned – to ride alongside his cart. He was less pleased to see that Arrow was accompanied by Fortunata, since the mare had a new rider, clad in sturdy boots, a hooded cloak – and a long brown skirt that was hitched to her knees, showing thick woollen stockings. "Gwaine, this is…"

"Martha," the woman interrupted, smiling. "Duncan's wife."

Gwaine ducked his head to hide his flaming cheeks. "Hullo, Martha," he mumbled. Really? Today, of all days? What, had his ex-lovers banded together and made some kind of pact to embarrass him? First the stable master's daughter; now the cheery brunette from the lonely village. _That's it,_ he decided. _I'm forswearing romance altogether. Far too risky._

He did have good taste, though; he had to admit.

Martha wasn't an obvious beauty – not that Gwaine put _that_ at the top of his wish list, however much the other knights might tease him about his weakness for a pretty face. Truth be told, he liked women with spirit, and Martha's boldness still shone brightly through her deep blue eyes. "In case you're wondering," she told Percival, in an aside that was meant for Gwaine's ears too; "we've met before." And she winked at the dark-haired knight through the teeming rain.

"So I gathered."

Gwaine knew Percival well enough to catch the eagerness in his tone. _Tell me more,_ was the subtle implication, as the tall man smirked at his blushing friend. Duncan seemed a little more perturbed. On Gwaine's current scale of troublesome emotions, however, 'perturbed' sat well below 'painfully uncomfortable'.

 _I win,_ he thought.

Except that Martha was with Duncan now… and suddenly, with an unwelcome flash of insight, Gwaine knew that any claim to victory should be held by the baker and not by the lonely knight.

As he pondered his single state with newfound regret, the world around him flared into sharp relief; white sky, stark grey buildings. When the unnatural darkness returned, it did so with a long, low grumble of thunder that Gwaine felt deep within his belly. The horses up and down the line grew nervous, stumbling in circles, shaking their heads and protesting loudly. Even the placid grey giant who was harnessed to their cart gave a discontented whinny and began to shuffle forwards – until his driver hauled him back. The warning was clear to man, woman and beast. No more gossip. No more preparations. Time to leave.

With quiet authority, Leon and Elyan led the way; moving slowly to accommodate the gaggle of carts and refugees behind them. Gwaine and his new companions brought up the rear. Their old farm wagon splashed through the deep puddles, shuddering with every bump in the road. Before long, the wretched procession had left Fallow altogether.

 _We're not quick enough,_ Gwaine thought grimly, watching the cloud dragons set their greedy sights on the tiny cluster of buildings. Monstrous shapes reached out with misty claws. Bold as he knew himself to be, the sight still unnerved him. The storm was a nightmare, rolling towards them, relishing their fear. Overcoming the plains with its terrible blackness; primal, instinctive, insatiable...

"That looks bad," Percival shouted.

Gwaine turned and stared at his friend. Then he burst out laughing. "Understatement," he yelled back, gasping with every rise and fall of the rickety cart.

The tall knight shrugged. "Too wet for poetry."

"Too wet for _breathing,_ " Gwaine countered, feeling much better in spite of his heartfelt complaint. Beneath his rain-wet cloak, he felt Pest stirring, and the creature's presence gave him added comfort. Strangely, it also brought Robin to mind – _or should that be 'Emrys'?_ he wondered. _Wish he was here. We could do with a sorcerer, right about now._ That was a dangerous thought, but a pertinent one. _Could_ a sorcerer turn back a storm? If he could, _would_ he do it? For Arthur, and Camelot? Even though magic was outlawed?

 _I'll ask him myself,_ the knight decided recklessly, trying not to count the leagues that lay between them.

-x0x-

On they travelled, clinging to hope. The wind drove them sharply; a hard master, whipping their backs with a frozen lash, but lending them speed all the same. Squinting surreptitiously in Martha's direction, Gwaine could see that Fortunata was exhausted, and he feared that she would fail before they reached the relative safety of the Darkling Woods. Arrow looked equally dismal.

"We're n-not going to make it, are we?" Duncan had caught the direction of Gwaine's troubled gaze. He shivered as he spoke and, all at once, Gwaine recalled his extreme aversion to cold. It was easy to imagine how Duncan must be suffering. Now the huddle of blankets made perfect sense.

"Of _course_ we are," the knight reassured the baker loudly. Leon, were he further down the line, would have given a rousing speech at this point, to lift their spirits. Speeches were not Gwaine's style, but he did have his humour. It was damp around the edges, but intact. "At this rate, the wind will push us all the way to Camelot. An easy ride."

"Easy…" Duncan echoed, in faint tones, but he managed to raise a smile. Martha, still riding nearby, quirked an eyebrow and gave her old flame an appreciative nod of the head.

They travelled on in silence for a while. The mood in the cart was subdued, with everyone fighting their own private battle against the downward pull of fear and depression. Gwaine could feel it tugging at him too, but he fixed a grin on his face that was far too wide and started to tell them a story, flung back into the teeth of the gale, about his reckless days as a lone adventurer.

Just as he had reached a particularly dramatic moment, with brigands bearing down on him and wolves at his heels, the weather quite literally stole his thunder, with a flash and a bang so close overhead that the cart horse reared up in fright and tipped the whole contraption over, passengers and all. Before he even realised what had happened, Gwaine found himself upside down in a puddle. Duncan lay across him, like an upturned beetle, struggling to rise. His frantic movement sent a series of sharp pains stabbing through the knight's body, from his wounded arm to his skull, where they exploded into blinding lights that sickened him.

A pair of feet landed beside him. A strong arm reached out – and Gwaine was free. He blinked up at Percival through the rain. "I was getting there," he grumbled.

"You're welcome," Percival nodded, as the whole procession broke apart and gathered round the broken cart. The horse was still frantic; bucking in terror with its front hooves landing dangerously close to Gwaine's left boot. The knight drew his legs in swiftly, grateful for his narrow escape.

" _Now_ can I ride?" he said plaintively to Leon, who hovered nearby.

Instead of answering, Leon reached out his hand and helped Gwaine to his feet. Then he did the same for Duncan, while Percival, Martha and Elyan helped the rest of the fallen villagers. This gave Leon time to ponder and, when at last he did speak, his words were thoughtful and concise.

"This is no good. We're not going to make it. There _must_ be somewhere closer that we can shelter."

"The Darkling Woods are right there on the horizon," one of the older men argued.

"This was _your_ idea," complained another voice. "We could have been safe in our homes."

"Your homes are probably kindling by now," said Percival sharply. "If not, they very soon will be."

At the same time, Alfric stepped forward, his round eyes staring upwards. "Look! What's it doin'?" he said, pointing, and they all turned to see what he was talking about.

The spill from the cart had sent Pest zipping into the air above them. His presence startled many who had not seen him before, but it was his current behaviour that puzzled Gwaine. First the little wisp hovered over a nearby hill. Then he flew back to the villagers. Glowing urgently, he danced and jiggled in front of them. Then he repeated the sequence all over again.

"Jack o' Lantern," scowled the witch-like old crone. "Don't be follerin', now."

"He's with me," Gwaine told her stoutly. "Or, you know, she… It. The wisp. It's my friend. It won't lead us astray."

"Well, it's trying to lead us somewhere," Martha said perceptively. "Gwaine…?"

 _Gwainegwainegwaine…_ The echo pushed at the edges of his mind. "Pest?" he ventured. A flare of alarm raced through him; not his own, but the emotion of that tiny creature which had bonded itself to him so unexpectedly. Alarm – and was that a hint of exasperation? Gwaine thought of Gaius, and of Bree, both summoned to him when he needed them. "Maybe we should… _oof_!"

The cry of pain had nothing to do with Pest, or even his wounded arm. Once more, a shower of hailstones was rattling all around them, smaller this time, but sharper than needles; bouncing off the ground, and their heads, and any unprotected skin that could be found. "Take cover!" cried Leon, his cheek sliced and bloody.

"Where?" Duncan begged, retreating deep into his blankets like a mole into the earth.

Gwain looked up. Pest was overhead. The image of the mole remained, filling the knight with warm, good feelings. "I think I know," he said eagerly. "Percival – come with me."

Percival's trust was absolute. Together, the two men raced over the open field, white ice crunching beneath their boots. Pest brought up the rear, as though keen to see whether or not Gwaine had truly understood him. The sound of hailstones pinging on their armour was a strange kind of music. Gwaine felt wild and free; excited by their speed, and the chance to be useful at last.

The field rose into a hill and, all at once, the hill dropped away beneath them. Percival was taken by surprise and toppled downwards, landing heavily on his feet and teetering to keep his balance. "Look out," he called to Gwaine, but the knight had already witnessed his friend's careless descent, and so he acted with unusual caution, slipping and slithering down the bank with Pest right behind him. When he reached the bottom, he discovered that Percival was grinning broadly.

"I know," Gwaine complained. "I'm no delicate fairy. Neither are you, by the way."

"Turn around," was the tall knight's reply. The wind was quieter here in the hollow, and it was a pleasant relief to be speaking normally once again instead of shouting at the top of their lungs. Gwaine did as he was told – and gave a casual nod of satisfaction that was a poor outward sign of his inward exultation.

"You knew it was here," he said to Pest.

The wisp gave a mid-air bob that could have been called a curtsey. Behind him, the mouth of an underground cave seemed dark but very welcome in their present situation.

"As did you," said Percival to Gwaine. "The wisp is talking now? That's different."

"Not talking, exactly…" It was hard to explain, so Gwaine didn't bother. Instead, he lifted his chin and stared at the incline, heedless of the hailstones that still tumbled from the angry sky. Then he glanced back at his friend. "I've seen you fall," he said with a mocking smile. "I'd rather not see it again. You check the cave. I'll climb up and spread the good news…"


	27. Chapter 27

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Seven**

"' _ **Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'  
'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat."  
(Lewis Carroll)**_

-x0x-

Reaching the top of the slope at last, Arthur was met by an outstretched hand and an unfamiliar grin.

"Thank you," he said politely, as the stranger hauled him up and then proceeded to do the same for Merlin and Cal, the unfortunate thief. This young man was rosy-cheeked and pleasant – a welcome change, given recent events. Nor was his the only new face to be seen. Behind him, a fair-sized crowd was milling; more refugees on their way to Camelot, no doubt. Already, they had drawn the old woman and the child into their friendly group. Simon, meanwhile, they had lashed to a nearby tree. Very wise. Clearly _someone_ had thought to bring rope. The stout man was beginning to stir, and did not seem too happy with his situation. Arthur felt no pity for him. _You reap what you sow,_ he thought grimly.

As soon as he was back on level ground, the king made his way over to the waiting child. Passing through the crowd, who drew to one side when they saw his armour and the set of his jaw, he knelt down before her and faced her squarely. There was a dull ache deep inside his chest, where a secret longing of his own gripped his heart like a cruel fist. Hopelessly aware of it, he tried to find the words he needed. If he could have done so – if the power had been his to command – he would have spared her this particular grief for many years to come. She was young and her life was just beginning. Now her father was dead – and Arthur knew all too well the pain that would follow the news of such a devastating loss. Sudden or unexpected, death would always be a shock. One moment, the person you loved was alive and breathing. The next… why, the next they were an empty shell, their spirit fled to lands unknown, and there was no safe way to turn back the clock and make things right again. Wishes were useless and magic brought nothing but sorrow… He swallowed, and studied the girl's pale face, berating himself for his selfishness. This was not about him. This was _her_ sad story, and his only role in it was to be the bearer of bad news.

She would never forget his face.

"Where is he?" she asked him breathlessly. "You said you'd bring him."

"I…" Arthur faltered. "He…" Above him, a wisp hovered, casting its light on the little girl's face and making her pale eyes shine. There were tears on her cheek. _She knows,_ he thought. _She knows already._ "I'm sorry," he told her, hating the useless word. "Your father…"

"…is dead," said the old woman harshly, stepping up to stand behind her young charge. The bitterness of her tone was an outward sign of her inward grief. And now Arthur came to realise that this poor man must have been her son as well.

"He is. It was quick, I think. It happened before I went down there." Taking the young girl's tiny, frozen hands in his own, he continued speaking to her guardian. It was easier, somehow. "If there's anything I can do…"

"Can you bring him back to life?" was her hopeless reply.

"I can't." He shook his head. "I can't replace a life that's lost. Not even a king can do that." His smile was rueful; guilty, almost. "I can, however, make sure that you are well provided for when you reach Camelot."

"Rich, are you?" It wasn't a sneer. There was no emotion left in the old woman's voice. Conversation was becoming difficult. Arthur rose to his feet, letting the child's fingers slip between his own. She was snuffling quietly, chin on her chest by now.

"I have some… influence," he said politely, trying not to sound too pompous. "And I know a kind-hearted woman who would be only too happy to share her home with you, until you are settled in a place of your own." He caught Merlin's eye. "If you wish it, I mean," he added. "Sorry. I'm used to giving orders. I don't mean to tell you what to do."

"No," said the woman, relenting at last. "No, that's very kind of you. And I know you would have saved him, if you could've done it. Thank you, my lord, for trying."

"He's no poxy lord," said a clear voice behind them; the voice of the thief. "I heard the other one call him Arthur. And I seed his cloak, what he laid on the dead man – _your_ dead man – so respectful like. Mind, he left _my_ brother to float in the water like some kind o' smelly old pondweed. Influence? Pah! He's the king, alright? Course he's got influence. Sire," he added hastily, as Merlin gave him a clout on the back of the head to remind him of his own precarious position.

Almost as one, the crowd dropped to their knees. Arthur sighed. "Get up," he told them. "Please? We don't have time for pomp and ceremony. We need to get you all to safety."

"What about me?" said Simon groggily.

Merlin gave a sly grin. "What _about_ you?" He studied the man with a nonchalant air. "You look snug. And you're certainly not going to blow away, tied up like that."

" _Mer_ lin!" Arthur exclaimed, pretending to be horrified. "We can't just leave him here. Think of the danger. Wild animals. Thunder and lightning." His voice hardened imperceptibly. "Murderers and thieves…"

"Save me!" Simon cried in terror.

The king pretended to consider. "I will," he said calmly. "If anyone here will speak for you. _Either_ of you," he added, turning to let his gaze linger on Cal, who was equally distraught.

"Can we speak for each other, like?" he begged.

 _Idiot._ Arthur sighed. "What do _you_ think?" was his cold reply.

Silence fell upon the road. Overhead, the trees were creaking ominously, whispering their judgement. _Leave. Leave this place,_ they seemed to say. Arthur shivered in his wet clothes. "Well?" he demanded.

"Oh, bring them along," the old woman snapped. "This wood is hateful, and my bones are aching. Let's be on our way. After all, I hear justice is swift and fair in Camelot…" She eyed the king. "Promise me?"

Arthur bowed his head in silent affirmation.

"What about us?" said Merlin in an urgent whisper, as the rosy-cheeked man began to untie what seemed to be an awful lot of knots around Simon's portly frame. "Are we heading home – or, you know…?"

Arthur stared back down the road. That way lay safety, and comfort, and Guinevere. Then he took a look at Merlin's white face, strained and hopeful. "Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," he said. "Do you see Gwaine, or the others? Because I don't. Tell me, how long have you known me?"

"Too long, I'd say," Merlin offered, his faint smile showing the first hint of his relief.

"Oh, and the feeling is mutual, believe me. Well, in all that time, have you ever seen me give up on a quest?"

"Are you asking if I think you're stubborn?" Merlin's eyes were wide by now, and innocent. "Pig-headed? Obstinate? Mulish?"

"Merlin!"

"Of course not, your _majesty_." His incorrigible servant answered the question, once and for all, with a sweeping bow. "And I'm glad of it. Thank you," he finished quietly.

Arthur nodded, satisfied. "Hold on to that gratitude, Merlin, won't you? I don't want to hear you whining when we meet this storm head-on…"

-x0x-

Gwaine was bored again. Ridiculous, but true. His situation, once exciting, had become interminable.

Stuck in a narrow system of caves with a band of sodden villagers, inhaling the rank smell that rose from their steaming clothes. Forced to listen to their loud complaints. Forced (by Leon) to reassure them, over and over again. Forced to keep a tight grin fixed upon his face at all times, so that he could keep a crowd of thankless fools from panicking as the world above them trembled. _You're safe,_ he wanted to scream at them. _Isn't that something?_ Homes could be rebuilt. Livestock could be rounded up. Clothes could be washed – at least _once_ a year, surely?

Gwaine shook his head in despair. "I shouldn't be here," he muttered to Fortunata.

The poor horse was trembling with weariness, a pitiful sight which filled him with shame at the way he had treated her lately. She did not like the cave, or the terrible howling of the wind outside. Gwaine laid his hand upon her neck and spoke to her gently. "You've done enough, old friend. Time to rest now. _I'm_ the fool, and I'll take the consequences this time."

"Who's a fool?" said Percival, coming up behind him.

"You. And me." Gwaine smacked his palm with an angry fist. "We're knights of Camelot, as Leon is so fond of saying. We don't belong here, cowering blindly under the ground like wilddeoren."

" _Do_ wilddeoren cower? I hadn't noticed..." Percival shook his head as Gwaine quelled him with a look. "It's a shame you didn't think of all that when you were nice and cosy back at the citadel. Nobody asked you to ride out."

"I don't regret coming," Gwaine snapped. "I just resent the fact that we're still here. These people don't need protecting any more. It's Camelot that needs us." The baffling thought of Robin plagued him. _Something_ was going to happen; Gwaine knew it - and he had to be there. At his shoulder, Pest burned in quiet sympathy. "Trust me. It makes perfect sense in my head..."

"Alarming thought. And have you seen the weather lately?" Since the two knights stood together at the mouth of the cave, Percival's question was very much rhetorical.

"Wind doesn't scare me." That was a lie. This wind was something different, and the elemental fury of its voice made Gwaine's blood run cold. "How about you?"

Percival paused to study him. "Let's see. Is there anything I can say to stop you doing the stupid thing you're just about to do?"

"Not really," Gwaine muttered.

"Right then." The big man wrapped his cloak tightly around his bare arms. "Let's get on with it."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Unless you want to bring Sir Leon in on this cosy little conversation?"

"Good point. Well played." Gwaine knew _exactly_ how that would go. Three bold knights would hasten off to Camelot – and one injured fool would be left behind again. "On my own head be it," he promised Percival. Gratitude tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Very likely," grinned his friend, as they slipped from the cave together, unseen, with the faithful wisp riding the currents above them.

-x0x-

 **A/N: Apologies for the delay! I'm back now (hooray!) and this story will have its ending, as I promised. Hope you enjoyed the update, and thank you for waiting so patiently!**


	28. Chapter 28

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Eight**

" _ **When you walk through a storm,  
hold your head up high,  
and don't be afraid of the dark."  
('You'll Never Walk Alone' from Carousel by Rogers and Hammerstein)**_

 **-x0x-**

"I think… I might… have made… a huge mistake."

It was a hateful thought. Gwaine would be the first to admit that he made mistakes all the time and yet he would never get used to the sick, cold feeling in his gut that heralded each new disaster. Good intentions were seductive. Sometimes, his luck held. More often than not, he found himself already halfway down the road to hell.

Only this time, it seemed, hell had come forth to greet him.

To make matters worse, here was Percival suffering by his side. _Better to have no friends at all than to risk them as I do,_ Gwaine chided himself fiercely. He was angry at the knight for choosing to come with him – and, at the same time, hopelessly grateful. One more point against him, no doubt, in the grand, fateful scheme of things.

"What mistake is… that?" countered Percival, spitting rain with every syllable.

Startled, Gwaine laughed out loud. The storm tore the bright sound away from his lips as though it could not bear even one tiny mote of cheerfulness to exist within the maelstrom of its temper. Still, the feeling remained, and it warmed him.

Day and night were long forgotten. The world was grey and cold around them. Gwaine had lost all sense of time and place five minutes after they left the safety of the cave. Turning back was impossible. Pest was their lifeline now, and led the way with surprising courage. Gwaine tried to keep the image of Camelot foremost in his mind. Perhaps the little wisp could see it. _Camelot,_ Gwaine urged. _Safety. Home._ The words were a mantra. In between his heavy bouts of self-reproach, they kept him sane.

If this was nature's war upon mankind then the storm was an aggressive marshal, sending volley after volley to assail them; first hail, then rain, then freezing flakes of snow that settled on the ground and began to pile up in a way that was most alarming. Gwaine's feet were leaden. Numbness was looming. He dragged them along, one after the other, his calf muscles screaming with the effort.

Percival stepped behind him to become a human shield once more, the broadness of his back now taking the brunt of the cruel wind that sought to drive them from their path. Gwaine turned his head with an effort and tried to glower at the knight for being so ridiculously selfless. Tears were streaming from his eyes – _one more trick of the wind,_ he reasoned hastily. He dashed them away before they turned to ice upon his cheeks and scored their tracks forever through his tender skin, a mark of shame and weakness.

"If we die here…" he began.

Percival shook his head mutely: _not going to happen._

"If we die here," Gwaine insisted, "I want you to know…" He was so very bad at the mushy side of friendship. Words of gratitude stuck in his throat as he tried to continue.

"Wait!" This time, Percival held up his hand, halting suddenly.

"Please," said Gwaine. "Let me…"

"No!" The tall knight grinned that easy grin of his; the one that made everything feel so much better. "Listen, you dunderhead. What can you hear?"

"Aside from… this delicate breeze?" Gwaine closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to pick out the different sounds within the turbulent whole. The wind, of course; that one was obvious. Snow lashing past his ears and pounding within that told him how quickly his heart was beating. And, behind the wind, a creaking… "There!" he cried in triumph. "I can hear it."

"Trees?" said Percival.

"Yes, trees," Gwaine echoed happily, wishing his face were a little less numb so that he, too, could smile.

-x0x-

The forest was no stronghold. Nevertheless, the over-arching branches formed a barrier of sorts between the weather and the weary knights. Already, the snowfall was trickling through, like dust motes falling from an ancient ceiling, but the way ahead was clear for now and the knights felt their spirits lifting.

Gwaine turned to Percival. "Dunderhead?" he said with feeling.

Percival shrugged. "I speak as I find," he retorted. There was a twinkle in his eye, but a hint of concern in his voice as he continued: "Think you can make it?"

"Why? Are you offering to carry me again?" Gwaine slapped him on the back. "Been there, done that – don't plan to repeat it." The lie followed smoothly. "I'm fine. I'll make it. Stop worrying."

Pest circled overhead, enjoying the moment. "Helpful little fellow, that new friend of yours," said Percival. "And he talks less than you do. I like him."

"Funny man." Gwaine wrapped his sodden cloak tightly around himself and stared along the dark path. "Is this the way we came? It looks different somehow."

"That's because the light is strange. But the trees are the same. I recognise them."

"You recognise the _trees_?"

"So would you, if you paid more attention. Come on," said Percival, showing the first sign of urgency he had displayed since they left the others. "It's safe enough for now, but I don't think that's going to last." He gestured to a silver birch nearby. Already, its roots were lifting from the sodden ground as the wind raged through its upper branches and its pale trunk moved from side to side.

"Like a loose tooth," Gwaine murmured, finding the image disturbing. "You think the trees might fall on us?"

"I think we ought to hurry," was the only thing that Percival admitted.

-x0x-

They walked on for such a long time that both men sank into a kind of dream-state. One step followed another along the white path, while the trees roared above them, a fearful sound that spoke of the power beyond. Debris littered their way; branches, leaves, and sometimes even a fallen trunk that blocked the path entirely. Fearful of losing their way by walking around, they climbed over. This was a slippery process that involved a lot of pushing and pulling on Percival's behalf, and many an awkward landing for Gwaine. "Why is it always me?" he grumbled, rising from the mud and snow for the third time in a row, his pride and his rear sorely dented.

"It's not _always_ you." Percival shrugged. "Sometimes, it's Merlin."

Merlin. "I wish _he_ was here. At least he would show me some sympathy."

"I'm sympathetic."

"Smirking isn't sympathy." Gwaine slapped away the knight's proffered hand and scrambled to his feet once more.

"Point taken. Tell you what. I'll be sorry for your pratfall if you apologise for kicking me in the face just now when I helped you over."

The two knights glared at each other, their fists clenched. Gwaine swallowed. Something was all too familiar here. "Wait," he said. "Stop. Are we arguing?"

"You are."

"I'm not… hey! Come on, now," he insisted. "I've felt this way before. Back in Fallow, when we met the baker. Leon and I… well, you missed it, but there was a moment when I could have knocked his block off. This storm is wicked. It messes with your head." Taking a deep breath, he held out his hand in repentance. "I'm sorry, Percival."

Without hesitation, the tall knight avoided his palm and grasped his arm instead. Gwaine did likewise. They shared a manly handshake, then drew apart, feeling rather self-conscious. Even Gwaine was lost for words by now. "Shall we…?"

Percival nodded quickly. Nearby, the wisp was jiggling. "You think he's laughing at us?"

"Oh, I know he is," Gwaine sighed. "Pest by name and pest by nature…"

-x0x-

Little by little, the grey light deepened and the Darkling Woods began to live up to their name. Only the wisp and the white snow underfoot saved the two men from losing their way altogether.

Gwaine was in the lead. He had struck up a one-sided conversation with Pest, recounting the best of his adventures. Percival had heard the stories many times before and so he hung back, feigning an unconvincing need for solitude. Meanwhile, the storm railed on above them. Lightning flashed beyond the trees, and thunder rumbled. Then Gwaine heard it; the mightiest groan of all… and a crash, combined with a broken yell, that shook the ground and made his blood run cold. Afraid to look behind him, he knew what he would see and yet he hoped with all his might that it would not be so.

"Is it bad?" he whispered.

Pest quivered unhappily. Sick with dread, the knight forced his frozen limbs to move at last and spun to find Percival.

There lay the knight, cold and silent by now, with his leg pinned under a heavy branch. The branch belonged to a fallen tree so large that no man, be he ever so strong, could move it on his own. A ragged cry tore from Gwaine's throat. He flung himself down on his knees by his friend, searching for signs of life. Those signs were faint; a tiny cloud of frozen breath, rising into the night air, and an almost imperceptible rise and fall of the knight's chest. Small mercies.

"Damn you!" Gwaine berated the storm above his head in rage and helplessness. "Haven't you done enough? What am I going to do now?" There was no thought of leaving – and help was so many miles away that even Pest would not be able to fetch it this time. Gwaine pulled and twisted at the branch with his bare hands, tearing the skin on his fingers and straining the stitches that held his wounds together. "Percival!" he screamed, against the rising wind. "Wake up and help me, man! Somebody, help me…" He fell back in despair.

Then a miracle happened.

Through his body, he could feel the pounding of a horse approaching. Snow sheared outwards as the hooves stumbled to a halt beside him. Gwaine looked up – and found himself staring in shock at the blessed, familiar face of his best friend; a wish made solid. "Merlin? Is it really you? What on earth are you doing here?"

"That is a _very_ long story." Arthur reined in behind his servant and dismounted with alacrity. "As is yours, no doubt. But I think we can save them both for later." His sharp eyes were already studying the problem of the fallen tree. Merlin, meanwhile, had gone straight to the trapped knight, with one quick smile of relief for Gwaine in passing.

"Yes – to be told in the tavern," Gwaine said faintly. Luck had finally overwhelmed him. "I'm going to need a _very_ large drink when we get back to Camelot."

"Make that… two," croaked Percival, much to everyone's delight. "Hello, Arthur. Hello, Merlin. Nice of you… to join us. I'm enjoying… the small talk, but I'd be even more grateful if someone could… get me out of… here."

"On it," said Arthur, distractedly.

The rest of them waited. Around them, the snow fell. Pest and the huddle of wisps that seemed to have tagged along with Merlin and Arthur played a silent game of skip-the-flakes.

"Or, you know," said Merlin, after an appropriate pause; "we could use the axe that I brought with me."

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at him. "No rope," said Arthur, full of disbelief, "but you brought an _axe_?"

"Be prepared, you said," Merlin protested.

"Yes," the king relented, smugly. "Yes, I did. And, as you can see, Merlin, I was right."


	29. Chapter 29

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Twenty Nine**

" _ **If Light Is In Your Heart  
You Will Find Your Way Home."  
(Rumi)**_

 **-x0x-**

Freeing Percival without accidentally cutting off one or more of his limbs took even longer than Merlin had anticipated.

Arthur commandeered the little axe and chipped away at the branch while Gwaine frowned terribly and Merlin tried not to even _think_ about using magic in the presence of the king. As for the unhappy Percival, his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth were in danger of shattering. Every time the blade bit into the wood, he gave an imperceptible wince. "Nearly there," Merlin lied, with a shudder of his own. It was colder than ever; as cold as death.

 _We have to get back to Camelot._

At last, with a _crack_ that was strangely subdued after so much effort, Percival was free. Now it was Merlin's turn to act, and all troublesome thoughts could be pushed aside, for a while. Leaning over his patient, he was heartily relieved to find that things were not as bad as he had feared. Through a mess of blood and cloth, and with a little gentle probing, he could tell straight away that the leg was broken, yes, but not shattered beyond repair. That was a stroke of good fortune and he allowed himself to hope, just a little. "Lucky man," he said to Percival. "You'll live."

"Glad… to hear it."

"As am I." Arthur leaned over Merlin. Snow was in his hair, and on his shoulders. He looked pinched and weary. "How's he looking?"

"We-ell," said Merlin, drawing out the word as though considering his patient. "I'd say a tree just fell on him… and he still looks better than you two."

"Ha!" Percival's hoarse laugh was unexpected. Arthur drew back, slightly nettled, and turned to Gwaine, who was shrugging as if to say _fair enough._

"That's not what I meant," the king protested.

"I know what you meant," said Merlin quietly, pleased to observe that, not only was Percival looking more alert, but there was also the shadow of a smile on Gwaine's face. A good physician knew the healing power of words. So Gaius always affirmed, even though his own bedside manner left a lot to be desired.

Arthur was no physician but he could still see through to the crux of their current problem. Hovering so close that Merlin was tempted to swat him away, he directed his next question to Percival instead. "Can you travel? If Merlin patches you up?"

His tone was doubtful and Percival didn't sound any more confident when he replied: "Oh, yes."

From behind them, Gwaine gave a snort. "Well, I'm convinced. You, Merlin?"

How could he reply? His heart was torn in two and yet he could not say a word. The need to return was so far beyond urgent, and burned in his breast like a raging fire, feeding on his guilt and fear – but this was _Percival_ , for pity's sake, and Percival was In His Care. "I think… no. Maybe not." The admission was painful when, at last, it came. "We need shelter. Here and now. I don't want to move him far… Look, I have to go and get some things…" He rose to his feet, almost barging past Arthur in his sudden need to be away from them. He had to think it through; had to know that he was making the right decision. One man – one _friend_ – or the whole of Camelot?

Why did it always come down to this?

He halted by his saddle, fumbling at the straps that held his kit. It would be so easy just to jump on poor, shivering Arundel, and leave without a word. So easy in practice, but terrible all the same.

"You alright?" said a quiet voice behind him.

Merlin felt an irrational flash of fear that Gwaine could read his mind and knew exactly what he longed to do. "'M fine," he mumbled, dashing the palm of his hand across eyes that were inexplicably wet with... "Snow. I mean, I've just got snow in my…"

"Sure. I know."

Turning to face the knight, Merlin almost broke down altogether. Gwaine's narrowed eyes reflected his own emotions back to him in a turbulent mixture of guilt, fear and sympathy. Above them both, the wisps hovered, pulsing in unison, riding the wind with surprising ease. They cast an eerie light over an already troubled scene.

 _Fat lot of good you are,_ Merlin thought bitterly, aiming his own self-loathing at the innocent creatures in a vain attempt to be rid of it.

 _Emrys,_ they whispered, deep in his mind. _Emrys…_

"What can I do to help?"

It was Gwaine who spoke the words aloud, but Merlin could feel the same sentiment leaking from the wisps themselves. "Percival is too exposed. We all are. I need to find a way to shelter him."

" _I'll_ find a way. You don't have to do everything, Merlin."

He let out a small, inarticulate cry. If only Gwaine knew… But Gwaine was staring at the wisps by now, distracted, as they rose up without warning and spun themselves into a frenzy. Unable to stop himself, Merlin stared too as their light grew brighter, until it was painful to look directly at them. Eventually, they slowed their manic dance and drifted down towards to the fallen tree.

"What…?" Arthur mumbled. His voice sounded thick, as though he were exhausted. Percival's eyes were closed again and the tension in his jaw had finally relaxed. To all intents and purposes, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. The wisps settled over them, spreading to cover them both, like a net that closed tightly, still glowing…

"…or like a cocoon," Merlin breathed, just able to make out the two men inside it, both motionless by now and lying prone beside each other. Then something else caught his attention and made him gasp. As the snowflakes tumbled down and reached the net of shining wisps, they faltered in mid-air; actually _faltered_ and turned aside, _almost as though they had forgotten where they were going_.

"That's impossible!" Gwaine rubbed his eyes and blinked. The howling wind grew louder and shook the trees above them in supressed rage at being so thwarted. Hengest and Arundel snorted their terror, with rolling eyes and stumbling hooves. "Erm… what do _we_ do now?"

And Merlin knew. At last he knew! Like a ray of sunlight piercing the fog inside his brain, the answer was there for him. All he had to do was act upon it.

 _Thank you,_ he told the wisps, and could have sworn he felt an answering wave of happiness.

"I need to get to Camelot," he told Gwaine. "It's really important, but I can't tell you why. The wisps will keep them safe. I'm sure of it." He paused and stared at his friend. How could anyone look so ill and yet so resolute? "Come with me? Please?"

Gwaine draped his functioning arm across Merlin's shoulder. One tiny wisp detached itself from the cocoon and zipped towards them both, which made the reckless knight smile broadly; a sight for sore eyes. "Well, I'm tempted to stay in this garden spot – but Pest wants to leave, so go on, then. I love a good mystery. Let's ride."

 **-x0x-**

 **A/N: Heartfelt apologies! Last summer, things took a couple of unexpected turns, life got tricky and my writing suffered - but I'm back now, and ready to finish the story, as promised! I've missed these guys! I felt so guilty for leaving them stranded in the forest. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with it, and welcome to any new readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More soon!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Thirty**

" _ **The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper."  
(W.B. Yeats)**_

 **-x0x-**

Gwaine was no lover of peace and quiet but even he would trade a month's supply of free ale for ten minutes' silence right now.

Actually, make that a year's supply.

He was done with this storm, well and truly. The cold was halfway to his heart and the snow had thinned out to a very uncomfortable sleet that knew how to find all the chinks in his armour. But it was the wind that slowly pushed him to the edge of insanity. No monster's roar could be so penetrating or relentless. No rushing river could sound so wild. No howling spirits of the dead could make him feel so angry and frustrated. Hengest felt it too, he could tell. The king's mighty horse was unstoppable in its fierce desire to reach the edge of the darkening woods, and home. Together, they rode the storm itself and the wind's own power drove them onwards.

As the trees thinned out at last and the snow-filled meadow beyond came into view, Gwaine lifted his chin and howled his triumph, trying to beat the wind at its own game and pausing only when his lungs refused to yield another breath. Spots filled his vision. He clung to the pommel and gulped in a fresh supply of icy air that threatened to freeze him from the inside out.

 _Stupid move,_ he scolded himself, and turned to pull a rueful face at Merlin.

But Merlin had disappeared.

"Not again," the knight groaned, wheeling his reluctant horse around. It was quite a struggle. Hengest snorted as though he could not believe Gwaine was serious. The wind in this direction was a wall of sound and fury. "Merlin!" Gwaine yelled, but his words were snatched away and torn to pieces. _Pest,_ he urged silently, changing tack. _Find Merlin. I'll follow you._

The wisp peeped out of the saddlebag where it had been resting and Gwaine could feel an unmistakeable wave of disbelief emanating from its tiny form. "Oh, for pity's sake," he ground out. "Please? You want me to say that I'll owe you one? Fine! Whatever it takes – that's a promise."

Pest hovered in front of his face and appeared to consider for a moment. Then it shot off with enviable ease, slipping between the currents of air and vanishing into the gloom. Gwaine kicked his heels against the horse's flanks, urging Hengest to follow their guide.

"Storm," he screamed hoarsely; "I challenge you! Take my friend and I will call down all the devils of the world upon you." It was a vain boast, but somehow it made him feel better. Ignoring his aching throat, he continued to hurl a volley of colourful insults into the void, caring little that the wind destroyed them one by one. Attitude was everything. He would not be cowed and he would not be beaten. Merlin was counting on him…

"What's with the cursing?" a muffled voice shouted as Arundel stumbled into view, still bearing his burden safely. Pest rode the air above them. A pair of streaming eyes squinted back at Gwaine from above the neckerchief that covered Merlin's mouth. His hair and clothes were soaking wet but he was otherwise unharmed, and seemed quite amused by the whole situation.

"I was worried." No point hiding the truth from his clever friend. "Thought I'd lost you."

"Oh, come on, Gwaine. That's Arthur's noble steed you're riding." Merlin paused, breathless from the effort it took just to make himself heard. "Best in the stables. We didn't stand a chance when you spurred him on like that. Thanks for worrying, though. Now you know how _I_ felt when _you_ disappeared." He raised an eyebrow. "Both times."

"I can take care of myself." Gwaine tried to recover some measure of dignity. Hard enough with Merlin's eye upon him; harder still with the wind's mocking voice tearing right through his skull. _Liar,_ it seemed to say. Now that their wild ride had paused, he was suddenly aware of every ache that plagued him. Never had he been so weary.

"As can I," said Merlin, leaning closer. "Gwaine, you don't look…"

"Save it," the knight interrupted grimly. "No time for that. Need to get to Camelot. That's what you said, right?"

"Yes. I mean, I did, but…" Merlin screwed up his face in concern. "Maybe we should rest a moment."

"Not on my account, I hope?"

"Of course not," his friend lied vigorously, fooling no one. "It's the horses. We've driven them far too hard."

"Oh, the _horses_. Well, in that case…" Gwaine glanced around. There was little hope of genuine shelter. The trees were bare and the ground was sodden. Any undergrowth had been battered into submission and any ditches were hidden by treacherous drifts. Slipping from his saddle, Gwaine led Hengest over to the widest trunk that he could find and positioned them both on the leeward side. Merlin followed him, trusting as ever, with Arundel trotting behind like a hound on a lead. Pest slipped back in his saddlebag, glad to have finished his task.

"Best I can do," Gwaine apologised. The wind still howled about them but the tree was an excellent barrier, making it slightly easier to hold a proper conversation. "Sorry it's a little lacking."

"What, no fireplace? No ale? No pickled eggs?" Merlin's eyes grew wide but they were merry. "No roof?"

"No walls," the knight countered logically. He patted the sturdy oak. "Not unless you count this beauty."

"She _is_ very fine." Merlin pulled down his neckerchief and the two men shared a tired smile.

"Think this day will ever end?" Gwaine asked, running a hand through his wet hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

"Doubtful." The heel of Merlin's boot was grinding into the dirty snow as he looked away. "Did you…?" He faltered. "Was it…?"

"Worth it? Yes," Gwaine replied simply, and that was enough. Now it was his turn to pause, uncertain how to frame the question that was lurking on the tip of his tongue. "Look, Merlin…"

His friend turned back with a hopeless grin. "We're really good at this, aren't we? Just spit it out, Gwaine, whatever it is."

"Alright then. I know why you want to get to Camelot so quickly."

Now Merlin really did look wary and Gwaine found himself doubting the wisdom of his words. Of course, wisdom had never been his strongest virtue, so he blundered on regardless. "It's Robin."

" _What?_ "

"You want to see Robin. I _know_ , Merlin. I understand."

At least, he thought he did. For an expression flooded over Merlin's face that he had never seen before; overwhelming relief mixed with absolute terror. "You do?"

With an echo of his long-held prejudice, Gwaine chose to blame the late, not-so-great King Uther, who still had everyone jumping at shadows. Magic was everywhere. Fact of life. So what? "I know Robin's a sorcerer, remember? Emrys, the sorcerer, hiding in plain sight. You and I have the same plan."

Merlin muttered something that sounded strangely like: "I doubt it." And he looked a little… frustrated?

"Tell me I'm wrong, then," Gwaine challenged him. "Robin jinxed Agravaine's tongue. I'm no fool, Merlin. I worked it out. You were there, so you must know it too."

With a sigh, Merlin nodded. "That's true."

Stunned by his success, Gwaine was dumbstruck for a moment. He watched, as Merlin fought some kind of silent battle with himself before continuing. "Gwaine, I… Look, the _only_ way to stop this storm is by using magic. Camelot will be destroyed if we don't. If this is the leading edge, I can barely _imagine_ what's coming and how bad it's going to be."

Gwaine shuddered at the thought. Merlin was watching him too, in a leery fashion, like a rabbit cornered by a fox. The knight was no expert in friendship, but that didn't seem right. He held up his hands. "I'm not judging. I feel the same way. Think Robin is strong enough?"

"I think he wants to help us," Merlin said slowly, weighing every word. At least the sickening fear had left his eyes. "And his magic is powerful."

"Good." Gwaine nodded. He tried out a cautious smile. "You're very good at keeping secrets, aren't you? Fooled me, when I was rambling on the other day. How long _have_ you known?"

Merlin snorted. "Seems like forever. You realise how dangerous this information is?"

"Robin can trust me to keep his secret," Gwaine said stiffly, feeling a little wounded that Merlin would doubt him. "I'm no tattle-tale. When it really matters," he conceded, allowing a proper grin to stretch his frozen lips.

"I know that, Gwaine. And I'm sorry. Robin's lucky you and I are the only ones who worked it out. Imagine if Agravaine knew who cursed him!"

"I don't think Agravaine remembers much of anything about that night." The wicked grin was broad by now. "I swear he drank the storeroom dry."

"Sounds more like a two-person job to me."

Gwaine cuffed the back of Merlin's head in a friendly sort of way. "No respect," he grumbled cheerfully. "None at all. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Oh yes, you do," said Merlin. "It's my winning personality and witty conversation."

"Ah, no. Definitely not that. More like your campfire cooking."

"There you go again, thinking with your stomach."

Banter was easy. Banter was safe. Gwaine spoke no more about Robin or magic, half-wishing he had never broached the subject in the first place. Something was off in Merlin's reaction and he couldn't make it out. Which was strange, because he had always considered Merlin to be something of an open book. Gwaine resolved to hold his tongue and be more observant.

 _When we get back to Camelot,_ he thought, _I'll tackle Robin by myself. Take the strain off Merlin. Keep him out of danger._

That was his plan, at least. But plans, as Gwaine knew all too well, had the most annoying way of tilting sideways into utter chaos.


	31. Chapter 31

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Thirty One**

" _ **I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against cold."  
(George R. R. Martin)**_

 **-x0x—**

Merlin's hands were blocks of ice around the reins. His cheeks were numb and he had not felt his ears in quite some time. Beside him, Gwaine was swaying like a drunken man. Every so often, he leaned too far and Merlin nudged him back again, shuddering at the chill weight of his armour. If they hadn't decided to ride so close together, they would have lost each other long ago, for night was upon them now with a vengeance and the only world they knew was darkness and the whirling snow.

It was barely possible to form any kind of rational thought. Merlin's brain was sluggish and, no matter how he tried, he simply could not make it function properly. All of a sudden, without any warning, his magical instinct took control in a frantic bid to save his life. A wave of heat surged through his body like a cleansing flame. When it had gone, he felt colder than ever from the lack of it – but there was movement in his hands again, and he worked his jaw until he could form a single word. "Gwaine?"

"'S'my name…"

Merlin ached with relief. Still conscious, then. They had to be close now, surely?

"Camelot?"

"Maybe… missed it?"

A terrible joke or an awful truth. "Not possible," he groaned, rousing himself further.

"Jus'... need to sleep a little." Gwaine fell against him, almost knocking him from his own saddle. Lifting a trembling arm, Merlin clung to his friend as the two horses stumbled along, side by side. He could feel Arundel failing beneath him. Even the mighty Hengest was exhausted. If he didn't act now, they would all be done for. Caution was a luxury that did not seem to matter any more.

" _Afol_ ," Merlin murmured, gifting them what strength he had. The spell was drawn from his own essence and it settled like a mist upon the others, man and beast, seeping through their skin. The horses picked up speed. Gwaine shifted awkwardly, opened his eyes and sat up in his saddle. Now Merlin was leaning on _him_ , so weak that he could barely stay awake.

"I've got you," said a gruff voice in his ear.

Gwaine was intent upon his charge and did not see the tiny light that rose up behind him. It hovered briefly by his ear in a wistful manner. Then it turned and darted off into the night. Only Merlin saw it go – and only Merlin heard its sad farewell:

 _Gwainegwainegwaine…_

 **-x0x-**

The wind was behind them at last, still raging through the treetops like an angry child. Good thing, too. Gwaine had no energy left for threats and curses. Instead, he was singing softly in a bid to keep them both awake as they travelled through the deep, hypnotic snow. The words were his own, yet they felt quite familiar, plucked from _somewhere_ long ago that he could only half-remember. A grieving widow, comforting herself on a lonely night, by an open window, little knowing that her child could hear her.

 _Drift away,  
Oh drift away  
In my arms and  
fear no more.  
The fight is over.  
All is peaceful.  
Drift away."_

He closed his eyes, ashamed to find that he was weeping. Dashing the tears away, he clenched his jaw. Too mournful. No one was dying tonight if he could help it. Something merry; that was what they needed. Taking a painful breath of frosty air, he searched through the jumbled storeroom of his memories and tried again. Gwen had taught him this one, and the thought of her kind face made him smile.

" _Said the knight to the maiden,  
'I'll love thee completely,  
I'll sing for thee sweetly  
And dance for thy hand.'_

 _Said his lady, with sorrow,  
'Thy words are enticing  
But listen when I sing  
And please understand:_

 _My soul is bereft  
For my true love has left me  
And I cannot follow  
To that distant land…"_

Oh yes, _much_ better. _Well done, Gwaine,_ he sighed, and pressed his lips together in defeat.

"Gwaine," said a tired voice somewhere south of his shoulder. "Don't stop."

"Ha!" snapped the knight, with feeling. "Seems I don't know any cheerful songs."

"Make one up, then. Please?"

"Make one up. You think I can do that; really? Maybe you're confusing me with Robin. You do _look_ confused." Never one to resist a challenge, Gwaine thought for a while. Then he gave a stiff grin. "Very well. Think I might have a talent for this after all. I'm going to call it... let's see... 'The Ballad of Sir Gwaine and Two Random Strangers'." Clearing his throat, he began to sing in a far more jaunty manner than before.

" _To a tavern by a forest  
Came the king one summer's eve  
With his servant, name of Merlin  
Scrawny fellow  
But the lad was  
Braver than you might believe._

 _There they met a mighty hero  
Strong in battle; handsome too.  
When a dirty fight broke out  
Our dashing hero  
And King Arthur  
Knew just what they had to do._

 _Pots went flying; beer and benches;  
Tankards rolled across the floor  
As the hero and the king  
And Merlin, bless him,  
Sent the bandits  
Howling like a baby for their mothers through the open tavern door…"_

"You know what, Merlin?" Gwaine lost the rattling flow of his ditty as a brand new thought occurred to him. "You've been in dozens of fights. And you always survive. Yet I've never seen you throw a single… wait!" He squinted through the snow in sudden fear and fumbled for his sword with clumsy fingers. "What's _that_?"

Something was moving towards them quickly; a glowing dome that turned the snow away - just like the strange cocoon of wisps. "Merlin?" Gwaine nudged him. "Are you seeing this?" _Please say yes,_ he thought fervently. The alternative was madness.

"I see it." Merlin did not sound afraid, which should have been encouraging. Instead, Gwaine felt even more disturbed. The glow was almost upon them now, and there was a bright figure at the heart of it; angel or demon, he could not tell.

"Save us," Gwaine cried, as the dome passed over him and _through_ him like a sudden fever. Now they were inside it. _Trapped,_ he wondered, _or safe?_ The whirling snowstorm was beyond its invisible walls, and Robin the sorcerer stood before them, smiling like the fool he claimed to be. At his elbow, a tiny wisp hovered. "Turncoat," growled the knight to his erstwhile companion. "When did _you_ leave?"

"A dubious insult from a man who wears his clothing inside out," Robin countered, stepping forwards to lay a hand on Arundel's nose and calm the startled beast before he bolted. The jester was clad, as always, in his fancy tunic. He did not appear to feel the cold at all. "And ill-placed, I fear, for it was Pest who came to fetch me, sensing your distress. Put your sword away, Sir Knight. All is well. Long have I been watching for you." His gaze settled on Merlin alone. The young man looked uneasy.

"Robin, I'm sorry…"

 _Sorry for what?_ Gwaine began to feel as though he had ventured into some kind of dream world where everyone else spoke a secret language that he could not understand.

"No matter. Here we are."

"And Camelot?" Merlin said hoarsely.

"Is but a short ride away. Truly, you are almost at the gatehouse. With my help, you need not fear."

"So you _are_ a sorcerer?" Gwaine interrupted, lifting his good arm and gesturing to the impossible dome with the sword he had chosen not to sheath. The accusation sounded harsh, even to his ears, and deeply ungrateful, given the circumstances.

Robin continued to stare at Merlin. "I have magic, yes," he said agreeably. "How clever of you to work it out, Sir Knight. But then, I expected nothing less. And now comes a test of your character."

Merlin flushed, as though he had taken Robin's words in quite another way. Meanwhile, hope began to burn like a candle flame in Gwaine's heart. "I'm not clever; just observant. You have magic? Thought as much. And you say you're here to help us? Well, thank you. I'll take it."

"Ah! So you are the King of Camelot now?" Robin's tone was grave.

This time, it was Gwaine who reddened. His tongue grew still and he glared at the irritating man. "I'm sure you'll do whatever pleases you," he muttered finally.

"That _is_ my way. But it _pleases_ me to help you, and you must forgive a fool his jesting ways. Are we not friends, Sir Gwaine, as once we were? Is magic such a barrier between us?" His words were pointed and his eyes were narrow.

"I'll let you know." Gwaine shrugged. "I prefer deeds to words. And stone walls to open sky, though I never thought I'd say it. If we're going to thrash this out then, for pity's sake, let it be in a warm place, with ale. Lots of ale." He looked hopeful. Robin laughed out loud; a merry sound that did much to ease the tension between them.

"Well said, Sir Knight. Thy wisdom is infallible."

Gwaine gave another grumpy shrug. "Don't tell everyone. I've got my reputation to consider."

 **-x0x-**

 **A/N: Gwaine wanted to sing. I just couldn't stop him.  
Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **More soon…**

 **(If anyone is interested, and because I always like to give credit where credit is due, Gwaine's first song was inspired by the music of Julie Fowlis, and my/his words will fit to the beautiful tune of Dh'èirich Mi Moch, b'Fheàrr Nach Do Dh'** **è** **irich, from the album Alterum. If you listen to it, I guarantee it will haunt you.)**


	32. Chapter 32

**A TRICK OF THE LIGHT**

 **Chapter Thirty Two**

"' _ **You be as angry as you need to be,' she said. 'Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'"  
(Patrick Ness)**_

 **-x0x-**

"Camelot lies yonder."

Robin waved his hand and, as he did so, the invisible dome around them melted away, like ice in the sunlight.

"Some kind of warning would have been nice," Gwaine spluttered as he was hit by a deluge of snow. There were flakes in his mouth and flakes in his ears, and flakes slipping down between clothing and skin to _very_ awkward places, almost as though the little white devils were making the most of this chance to attack him again. He turned to check on Merlin who, stubborn as ever, appeared to be clinging on to consciousness by his fingernails.

"Yes," the young man breathed. His eyes were shut and his cheeks were pale. "Bracing, though…"

Gwaine turned back to Robin – but the man had gone. "That's not funny!"

Merlin squinted reluctantly. "Actually… it is."

Grumbling under his breath about magical fools who came and went with no regard for other people's sanity, Gwaine urged both horses forward. Camelot did, indeed, lie yonder. Through the barrage of snowflakes, he could just make out the torches guttering in their deep alcoves by the main gate. More than that, he could not fail to see the glowing multitude of wisps, scattered randomly across the rooftops. Some had even reached the highest tower of the citadel by now.

"Pretty," Merlin observed, through a cloud of his own breath.

"Disturbing." Gwaine was feeling far less charitable. Now that they were close to home, rash decisions, made so lightly at the time, were creeping back to haunt him. He jumped down from the saddle, only to land in a thick pile of snow that swallowed him up to his knees. Worse still, the wind was beginning to rise again. It was colder than the Void out here and he could think of nothing he desired more than to be on the other side of those blessed gates. Even the tongue-lashing he was undoubtedly due from Gaius could not deter him from his single-minded quest for shelter.

"Ho there!" he yelled as loudly as he could, wading towards the gate with difficulty. Reaching it at last, he hammered on the thick wood with the hilt of his sword. After a while, he started kicking too. "Oh, come on! Are you sleeping on the job? Let us in!"

With a creak and a groan, the gate opened slowly, causing the deep snow to shift and roll like a tiny avalanche. Gwaine swayed and fell as his legs slid out from under him. His landing was less than graceful. From somewhere close behind him, he could hear the quiet sound of Merlin's laughter. _Well,_ he thought grudgingly; _at least that's something._

Pest hovered over him, also highly amused. Moments later, the wisp darted away, to be replaced by the one face Gwaine both wished and did not wish to see.

"Sir Gwaine," said Gaius in a tone that matched the wind for its chill factor.

"Gaius," the knight replied cautiously, feeling at a distinct disadvantage. He tried to rise. The move was an epic failure, sending him deeper into the snow. Now his knees were above his head.

Gaius waved his hand and two dark figures – anonymous knights, cloaked and hooded against the cold – reached down and hoisted Gwaine to his feet at last. "Er… thanks, boys," he ventured. Meanwhile, the physician had caught sight of Merlin and was shuffling towards him as swiftly as his spry old bones could carry him. He cast a backwards glance at Gwaine as he did so, and it was not a friendly one.

Gwaine shivered with foreboding. Here, then, was the herald of things to come. He tried to appear unconcerned, but his heart wasn't in it. Instead, he began to lead Hengest through the gateway into the lower town, trusting his well-honed instinct for knowing when he wasn't wanted any more.

-x0x-

Strong hands lifted Merlin down from Arundel's back and bore him into the gatehouse. The shift from cold to warmth was a strange kind of shock. "I'm not injured," he protested. "'M just tired. Hungry, too…"

They laid him down upon a guardsman's cot, near a crackling brazier, and he gazed up at the ceiling with relief. "A roof. That's nice. Wanted a roof. Hey, Gaius?" It seemed that his tongue was thawing along with the rest of his body, and all at once he could not stop talking. Gaius loomed over him and Merlin gazed up at his guardian fondly. "Glad to see you," he affirmed, with a loopy smile.

"As am I to see _you_ , Merlin. That friend of yours…" Gaius bit his lip and frowned. "If I hadn't just pulled him back from the brink of death, I would be sorely tempted to murder him myself for risking your life like that."

"He didn't," Merlin protested. "I did."

Shaking his head, Gaius wrapped a scratchy woollen blanket around Merlin. "You see it your way; I'll see it mine. Where's Arthur, by the way?"

"Oh," said Merlin. "Ah…" He glanced at the shadowy knight who was lingering close by in case Gaius needed him further. Hopefully, the other man was taking care of poor, exhausted Arundel. As for Gwaine, he was nowhere to be seen. This was not a shock to Merlin. "Arthur… stayed behind with Percival. I'll explain later. He's safe, though. It's complicated. Food?" he added, hopefully, by way of a distraction. His belly growled in agreement, and Gaius could not help but laugh.

"The very best tonic. And… no offence, Merlin, but I believe a change of clothes might also be in order." He raised an eyebrow, surveying his patient. "You're looking a little washed out."

-x0x-

Camelot was disturbingly quiet. Every dwelling was shuttered against the storm, as Gwaine would have expected, but there was not a single strip of light to be seen through any crack or frame. No refugees in the streets; no beggars; no stubborn townsfolk braving the cold. Even the Rising Sun had barred its doors. It was downright eerie. Only the wisps remained, and the stark white snow.

"Wh-what do you think?" Gwaine asked Hengest, forcing the words between his chattering teeth. "Have they been stolen away by the Sidhe?"

Hengest shook his mane and snorted.

"No," sighed Gwaine. "I agree. There has to be some kind of p-practical explanation." Gaius and the two knights could not be the only people left in Camelot… _Wait, though._ The knight halted, struck by yet another puzzle. What _was_ the old goat doing out and about on a night like this? And how had he known they were outside the gate?

Hengest gave him a withering look that clearly said: _keep moving_. Gwaine patted his nose. "You're a clever beast. Maybe you should make all my decisions from now on. So - less thinking. How about drinking?"

For a moment, he actually considered breaking into the nearby tavern for a jug (or two) of liquid relief but, once again, there was the noble Hengest, a disapproving presence by his side.

Very well, then. Gwaine turned his back on the Rising Sun, hunched his shoulders and ploughed onwards, up to the citadel, with his four-legged conscience trotting by his side.

-x0x-

Warm. Cold. _Warm_ …

Merlin, to his very great astonishment, found that he must have fallen asleep, for here he was now in his very own bed, without any kind of effort on his own behalf. It was most peculiar. He had some vague memory of bells ringing and a bitter chill, but that was all. Gaius hovered nearby, as before, eyes gleaming like a star with a secret. In his hand was a bowl of stew that smelled delicious. Pushing himself upwards, Merlin studied him with grave suspicion.

"How did you do that?"

"Not I," said Gaius. "Your friend Puck. Seems his talents are quite remarkable. You might like to ask him how he did it. Could be useful one day." He laid the bowl of stew beside Merlin and folded his arms. "Meanwhile, _I_ had to take the usual route. Apparently, he didn't want to 'confuse' us. His words, not mine. And a very disturbing notion."

The thought that he had somehow been transported from the gatehouse to his quarters gave Merlin a slightly uneasy sensation. Magic was his life – but to be the unwitting subject of somebody else's enchantment? That was a different matter altogether. _Still,_ he mused, as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling again; _it's good to be home. And dry!_ Another revelation. Gaius continued to watch him, smirking ever so slightly.

"You two are friends, then?" Merlin ventured cautiously. "Only, you weren't so sure when I left…"

"Robin has a silver-tongue. I find…" Gaius paused, and now his smile was sheepish. "I find I like him very well indeed. Eat your stew, Merlin. I have a little… errand to run and then I shall be back to check on you. Woe betide you if that bowl is not scraped clean. And if I find you out of bed…"

"Oh, don't worry," said Merlin, with the spoon already halfway to his mouth. "I don't think my legs could carry me anyway. Gaius…"

"What now?"

"That 'errand' of yours. Please don't be too hard on Gwaine. His intentions were good."

"As are mine," the old physician grumbled. "And I have the right to speak as I see fit."

"Oh – of course." Merlin flushed and bent over his bowl, fiercely interested in the contents. He had tried - but he very much feared that saving Camelot itself would prove less of a challenge than saving Gwaine from the storm that was heading in _his_ direction, as Gaius turned and left the room, closing the door with a vigorous _bang_ that was almost, but not quite, a slam.

-x0x-

 **A/N: Thank you to everyone who is still reading this story, and to anyone who has just joined in! Special thanks to Vanvdreamer for her reviews – they are very much appreciated!**

 **More soon (though I don't think Gwaine will be too happy about that).**

 **Smuffly.**


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